The Blackbird and the Bowman
by Rianiel
Summary: He is a proud, hard-working father of three. She is a snobbish, widowed recluse living off her husband's riches. A series of unfortunate events unfold when their paths cross, but in the end they know they truly needed one another to survive – however stubborn they both may be. Bard/OC (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **

**Hello fellow readers! Firstly, thank you VERY much for stopping by and reading this story. I've been a bit of a lurker in this fandom, and after trawling through countless Kili/OC's and finding NO Bard/OC's, I decided to write my own. There's not enough of them! I dug around on the internet about (what I assumed) daily life was like in Esgaroth and the names (I chose Nordic/Swedish names) considering Peter Jackson used "Tilda" and "Sigrid" for Bard's daughters. **

**Anyway, I suppose this story could go either way. Bard/OC's aren't very popular and my OC isn't a sword-wielding, arrow-shooting Elf but this story may get swamped among the many Kili stories.**

** If you have the time, I would LOVE to hear what you think so far! It really motivates me, and I appreciate all types of feedback. **

* * *

**Chapter One.**

Gisela had been returning from an appointment with the seamstress when she heard the splash. The disturbance in the water rippled down a narrow street, gently rocking a pair of docked fishing boats. Wondering if the local kids were throwing stones at the alley cats again, she hitched up her skirts and quickened her pace, only to find a fully grown man flailing about in the icy waters like a helpless seal-pup. Without hesitation, she whipped off her woollen cloak, rolled up her sleeves and knelt down to grab the man's hands to keep his head above water.

"Hey!" she shouted at him to get his attention. "Hold on!"

The man appeared not to hear her, and Gisela struggled to hold onto his weight. She felt someone pass along the street behind her, and Gisela spotted a beggar skulking in the shadows watching the commotion with glee.

"You have help me!" she yelled desperately "He is going to drown!"

The beggar, a woman with bronzed skin, moved into the light and reluctantly grabbed hold of the man's other arm. The water was weighing down his clothes, and he was slowly losing consciousness, making his body go limp.

"He's dead," the beggar woman panicked through puffs of breath, as she and Gisela attempted to haul the man onto the jetty. "He's dead. Look at him."

"He's not dead," panted Gisela. "Keep pulling!"

"He is! We'll hang for this! We killed him!"

The beggar woman took one last look of the unconscious man and fled down the street, disappearing into the night. Gisela gave a cry of frustration, and with all the strength she could muster, dragged the rest of the man's body onto the jetty. He collapsed on top of her, icy water seeping through her dark garments and stinging her skin. With great difficulty, she flipped him over and checked his pulse, deflating with relief when she felt the faint throbbing of life in his frozen veins. Gently, she brushed aside his long wet hair and blinked in surprise. It was Bard the Bargeman.

Tentatively, she slapped his face, and after a few tense seconds, his eyes opened. The pupils were dilated and struggled to focus. He was drunk.

Well this was a first, Gisela thought wryly as Bard rested his head in her arms, the man always seemed so sensible.

"You fell in the lake," she told him, speaking loud and clear. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded and slowly sat up, leaning heavily against Gisela who was rapidly wishing she could go home and change her sodden clothes. Goosebumps were forming on her arms, and she was starting to shiver. She knew Bard lived not too far away, but getting him there was another matter; dragging a fully grown man out of a lake had spared her last breath but she trusted no-one else to get him home.

"I am going to help you," she said. "Can you stand?"

She instantly regretted asking this when Bard staggered to his feet with alarming speed, almost pushing her into the lake. He clutched handfuls of her cloak to steady himself, his wet hair swaying in bedraggled clumps around his face. She brushed herself off, suppressing her annoyance.

"Can't go home …" he mumbled, a hint of a slur behind his words. "Damn Alfrid … taxing … kicking me out in two weeks … Master of Laketown got his way … failed my family … "

Gisela fought to roll her eyes at his ramblings. "Well I have to take you home, Bard. You'll freeze to death if you stay out here."

"I've failed my family ..."

"Are you listening to me?"

Bard twisted his head and stared at her blankly, before focussing on a point below Gisela's mouth. Following his gaze, she hastily snatched her cowl and covered up the burns scarring her neck. Now she was angry, more at herself for letting her guard down and allowing somebody to see those markings, even if this particular individual would not remember it. Bard was so drunk and in shock that he neither cared who she was. Snow was now starting to fall in earnest from large clouds partially obscuring the full moon, and Gisela thought longingly of sitting next to her large fire with a glass of mulled wine. Undisturbed.

A cold snowflake landed on her nose, disrupting her wistful daydream. Bard was beginning to shiver violently beside her, wrapping his soggy thick coat around his body. Pursing her thin lips, Gisela poked him sharply in the shoulder. The longer they stayed in the cold, the quicker Bard's body would go into shock.

"Come, follow me."

He obeyed without comment, teeth chattering and hugging himself to conserve heat. Fortunately for Gisela, he was more surefooted than she thought and they reached his house without any real incident, except when he tried to relieve himself near a cattle-shed. He lived in a part of Esgaroth that Gisela mostly avoided, mainly due to the lingering smell of fish and the suspicious-looking locale lurking in their boats and shabby stalls. His house was crudely built, balancing precariously on a handful of rotten wooden stilts which were smothered in moss and limpets but twinkling through the darkness, Gisela saw the welcoming glow of candlelight shining from his house.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. It opened a fraction, and a pair of fearful blue eyes peeked through the gap.

"Who is it?" a timid voice asked.

"There is no need to fear me, girl," Gisela explained, stepping into the sliver of light shining from the house. "I found your father, Bard in need of help. I have brought him home."

"Papa?" the girl asked worriedly. "In trouble?" She opened the door in full and Bard twisted his head in the direction of the girl. He smiled weakly, knocking Gisela aside as he staggered into the warmth of his home.

"Papa? What has happened? Why are you wet? Is that _blood_?"

The girl had begun to stress herself with worry, and Gisela placed a hand on her shoulder. "May I enter your home, girl? I can help you."

"Of course," the girl replied, standing aside more graciously than Bard, who was now huddled next to a small fire, stroking his arms in an attempt to warm himself. His sodden overcoat lay crumpled on the floor. The girl picked it up with a sigh, as Gisela shut the door behind her. "What happened to him?"

"I'm not sure. I found him in the lake near the Market, and pulled him out. He's obviously drunk."

"That's not like Papa," the girl mused darkly, filling a kettle with water from a pump. "Forgive my manners, my name is Sigrid. I am his eldest daughter."

"Gisela."

Sigrid froze slightly, but Gisela had expected this reaction. Her reputation in town was as prominent as Bard's but much less favourable. She was the widowed daughter of the Master of Laketown, shunned due to her chosen solitude and dark, hooded appearance. It was burned into the memory of each citizen of how Gisela lost her family, five years ago in a freak fire which wreaked havoc in Esgaroth. Rumours whispered she'd gone mad with grief and her body was mutilated with burns but Gisela only chose to conceal herself as a display of mourning. She had gone back into the burning house to rescue her son, but was pulled back by her father's guards screaming hysterically. The last thing she ever heard was his screams of anguish. Her husband had been rescued but later died in the infirmary from smoke inhalation and severe burns.

"Forgive me once more," Sigrid said, dipping her head in apology and avoiding Gisela's eyes. "You are most welcome, Gisela and I cannot thank you enough for saving my father. Truly."

She sounded sincere, and Gisela smiled slightly, brushing off the awkward moment. She gazed at Bard who was sat staring into the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in his glassy eyes. She had never seen a man look so crushed. The effects of the alcohol had worn off slightly, and Gisela knew he was pondering the impending eviction of his family and financial woes. She glanced over at Sigrid who was now preparing a warm cloth to douse her father's head, apparently unaware of the bad news.

"Sigrid? What's going on?"

A small figure hovered in a doorway, leading to a cramped bedroom. Gisela twisted her head as a small girl padded into the room carrying a soiled teddybear, and sucking her thumb. Her feet were bare.

"Tilda!" Sigrid reproached, turning on her sister while she applied the cloth to Bard, who silently clutched Sigrid's other hand. He was shaking. "Go back to bed!"

"I heard strange noises in my room again."

Sigrid gritted her teeth. "For the last time, Tilda there is no dragon under your bed."

Tilda's large eyes began to glisten with tears. She was about to open her mouth to protest, when she noticed Sigrid nursing Bard. "What's wrong with Pappy?"

Sigrid glanced over at Gisela who was sitting at the table. The little girl followed her gaze and her jaw dropped. "It's … it's the crazy lady!"

"Tilda! Don't be rude!" Sigrid hissed. "This is Gisela, now go back to bed you little imp. Papa will be fine."

Gisela was resisting the urge to chastise the young girl. In plain, she heartily disliked children; they were the most fearful when they passed her in the street, glaring her down and recklessly throwing names at her to provoke a reaction, but she never rose to the bait. She was a proud woman, and losing ones temper was better suited to the harlots who worked in the taverns with their bosoms spilling over ill-fitted corsets, or fishermen at the market. Nevertheless, their witch-hunt over the years had dried up all affection she once possessed for the younger generation.

"You should listen to your sister, child," Gisela said coldly. "It's late."

The young girl stiffened at being rebuked by a stranger, and with a stern look from Sigrid marched out of the kitchen, dragging her filthy teddybear on the floor. Sigrid watched her go with a sad look on her face.

"I shouldn't have been cross with her," she said regretfully, "she sleeps little these days since we started rationing the food. So does my brother, Bain but he's too polite to say anything. He doesn't want to worry, Papa."

Despite herself, Gisela felt her stomach clench painfully with guilt as she remembered the hearty storage of bread and cheese in her pantry. Her husband had been a wealthy merchant and she lived on his remaining wealth, revelling in her luxuries. What did she care for the need of others? She wasn't easily swayed by charity, but the pained look on Sigrid's face made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She rose to her feet, observing Bard who was still lost in his own world.

"I will take my leave, Sigrid. Thank you for your hospitality."

"Oh! But it's late, Gisela … you are more than welcome to stay the night – I"

" - No, I think not, Sigrid," Gisela cut in smoothly, but there was gentleness to her tone. "Your father must get some sleep. On the morrow cut him some ginger root, I don't doubt he'll need it." She risked a smile and Sigrid returned it warmly. She rushed over to Gisela to see her out.

"Very well. I cannot thank you enough for bringing my father home … I … I also," her pale cheeks began to flush slightly. She bit her lip. "Never once did I believe the rumours … I always knew you were a good woman, Gisela. Those naysayers are all fools."

Gisela felt her skin drag as the compliment washed over her, causing her insides to swell with empathy. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. "I am nothing more than a cynical old maid, Sigrid," she said finally, watching Bard slowly collapse in a vacant bed in the background. "Neither am I truly what you think I am. I bid you goodnight."

Sigrid's flush began to crawl down her neck. Gisela didn't wait for a response, and with a polite nod to the young girl, exited the house not before slipping a bag of gold coins within the folds of Bard's coat.

* * *

**Any thoughts, peeps? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note:**

**Happy Tuesday fellow readers! **

**A huge thankyou to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or even merely stumbled upon this story. I'm still getting to grips with Bard's character (I'm portraying him from the film and aspects of the book) so please let me know if he seems too OOC!**

** Also, ****I will personally be replying to each review I get; when you spend the time leave feedback, I solely believe I should spend the time and reply! **

**Your support means a lot! **

**Guntz: **_I'm glad you like the story so far! I didn't want to reveal too __much of Gisela's character straightaway, as it would detract from any intrigue surrounding her character but you won't be waiting too long for her backstory! _

**Holdinghisheart: **_Glad you enjoyed it! And I hope you enjoy this second instalment._

**Wisdompearl: **_You are spot on when you pointed out Bard and Gisela are very similar characters! That's why they clash at first, and I shan't reveal too much at this point time :) _

**Theheartsbeat:** _I'm very happy you're enjoying it so far :) Writing about Laketown is a lot of fun and it definitely quite refreshing instead of the many Quest __tics, not that I don't enjoy some of them! _

**Harlequin299: **_Updated - as promised. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!_

**Anyways, here is chapter two! **

* * *

Wintry sunlight filtered through the threadbare curtains. Bard lay on his side. His head was pounding and not a muscle wanted to move. The Bowman slowly brought up a hand to rub his eyes. _What is going on? _The heavy pounding in his head made it hard to think and he closed his eyes again. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door but the Bowman did not want to move.

"Papa?" The questioning voice of his eldest daughter Sigrid called out. "Are you awake?"

Bard opened his eyes slowly. "Gods … damn this pain." He grunted to himself. He then turned to the window. It was midday. The Bowman quickly sat up and regretted it instantly. He caught his head in his hands and he fell back down onto the makeshift bed. The world was spinning too far for him to see.

"Papa?" Sigrid called again. His daughter waited and when her father didn't answer for a few minutes, she let herself into the kitchen and stoked the ailing kitchen fire. "Papa, how are you feeling?" She paused in filling the kettle as she saw Bard holding his head. She quickly walked over. "What's wrong?" Bard was clad in only his woollen shirt and briefs. His skin was paler than usual, and a purple bruise was swelling around his left eye. He touched it lightly, gazed at Sigrid's anxious expression then back at his half-dressed self. A look of pure horror crossed his face and instantly grabbed the thick woollen blanket draped over his legs.

"What – What happened to me?" the Bowman asked quietly with a question of his own. The pounding got worse and he gritted his teeth, berating himself for getting into such a state before his children. He had never felt so ashamed.

"Well … it's quite a long story," Sigrid replied slowly, as Bard wriggled into a more comfortable position among the hay-filled fishing-nets. "You came home rather drunk … and you had fallen into the Lake."

Bard stared. "What?" His distress caused another wave of pain to assault his senses and he collapsed back into the hay-pillows, growling in pain.

Sigrid reached down and placed a palm to his forehead. "You must rest, Papa. I'll bring you some medicine." There was an unspoken message in the air as she clipped some ginger flourishing in the composting pots beside the windows. "I have some ginger root, Papa?" Not expecting an answer, the elder daughter gently cut the root into smaller segments. Once she was done, she came back to Bard. "Here."

The Bowman opened one eye and then sat up with difficulty. His headache made his body sway and his eyes didn't want to stay open. He blinked slowly to calm his eyesight. An unspoken 'thanks' and Bard took the crushed ginger root from Sigrid. He had always detested the vegetable but had heard of it's excellent properties for soothing headaches. He closed his eyes and ate the chopped root. It took a few minutes but the ginger quickly worked through his headache and he relaxed.

The Bowman opened his eyes after holding them closed for a few minutes. "How did I get home?" Looking towards Sigrid who was leaning against the small side-table, he leaned back on his pillows.

"You were found by the last person you would expect," Sigrid explained, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable.

"By whom?" Bard asked. "Surely not the Master of Laketown himself?"

A small smile crept onto Sigrid's face and Bard returned it. Neither of them could imagine that pot-bellied buffoon risking his neck in icy waters. "Actually, no." She sat on the edge of the bed. "It was Gisela … the Widow."

Bard was still feeling the effects from his headache but he became more alert at that sentence. He stared long and hard at Sigrid but knew his daughter spoke the truth. He knew very little of the Master's widowed daughter, except he often saw her wandering the docks in her flowing dark skirts, face concealed beneath a heavy cowl. If anything, he greatly mistrusted the woman.

"She was very polite," Sigrid continued, cutting through Bard's thoughts. "Not like what everyone thinks … she even suggested giving you ginger root when you woke up."

"Did she now," Bard replied absentmindedly. He dragged a hand through his bedraggled hair. He was puzzled. Puzzled not only over being saved by a notoriously secluded stranger but as to why he was drunk in the first place. And then it hit him with the force of a charging stallion. Cold, cruel comprehension dawned on him as he remembered the meeting with Alfrid yesterday on the docks. He was broke. His family had less than two weeks to come up with ten golden pennies, or else they were homeless.

He felt the bile rise in his throat, and he threw up into a nearby cooking pot. Sigrid jumped off the bed in alarm, watching helplessly as her father writhed in pain. She could hear Tilda and Bain stir in their cots, and she kept a vigil on the doorway in case they entered the kitchen. After a couple of minutes Bard collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving and face glistening with sweat. He felt Sigrid tentatively take away the pot, and place a cool cloth to his searing forehead. No words were spoken between them as he lay there and Bard was grateful; Sigrid was only fifteen but the girl was wiser beyond her years, shouldering the responsibility of running the home whenever he worked the boats. He stroked her hand, and she returned the gesture.

"Shall I leave you to take some rest, Papa? I can take Tilda and Bain to the market."

Bard raised his head slightly. The thought of more sleep was tempting, but his hair reeked of vomit and his clothes were filthy. A refreshing wash was what he needed, at least then he could think straighter. "Take them if you wish, but I must clean myself up."

Sigrid nodded and left the kitchen to check on her younger siblings.

With a huge effort, Bard slowly raised himself out of the cot and stood on his feet. The room was spinning slightly but at least his headache had gone. He suddenly became aware of how cold he felt and he snatched his doeskin overcoat hanging on the door. As he shrugged it on, something heavy landed at his feet from within the coat; it was a large bag of golden pennies.

Bard sighed as he entered the Market. The sounds of different sized heels patted the earthy ground, as the nonstop battle between loud commotion and endless chatter that determined which noise irritated his delicate state. The colours; brown after brown was all that he could see whether it be the muddy ground he walked on, or the rows of stalls which were filled with pitiful amounts of vegetables and fish. He felt so out of place, but compared to the fussy, extravagant dresses of the rich matrons and their daughters, he was less likely to be targeted by pickpockets.

Some people cast him sidelong looks as he passed them. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared; nothing about this place brought him any satisfaction; from the sounds to the colours and worst of all the smell, if anything it only soured the scowl on his already agitated face. His patience was beginning to wane, but after five minutes of fruitlessly looking over the heads of a band of gossiping fishwives, he found what he was looking for.

A flutter of dark fabric caught his eye. The Widow was over at a stall selling fabrics. Quickly, he squeezed through an oncoming horde of people and approached her. She had not noticed his presence. A gloved hand idly stroked a roll of emerald silk, before another adjusted the hem of an elaborate gold-trimmed cowl.

"Greetings, Master Bargeman," a low voice said from within the hood. "I hope you are feeling better this morning."

It was not a question. Bard's composure broke slightly at her words but rearranged his face into a grimace.

"Yes, thank you," he replied hastily. He felt the eyes of the stall trader watching their exchange closely, and the last thing he needed was to dump a bag of golden coins under the eye of one the Master of Laketown's probable spies. "May I speak to you in private, Miss?"

The gloved hand froze. Hesitantly, dark brown eyes looked up to meet grey. He expected to see a frown grace her features; a frown filled with mild anger for she must have known the reason he was there. What he saw instead was a curious smile playing on her thin lips.

"Very well, Master Bargeman," she said with a dip of her head. The fabrics seller sadly watched his customer's go as Bard followed her to the edge of the Market and down a side-street to where the livestock was kept. He quickly swept a wary glance over the surrounding buildings for any spies before turning to the Widow.

"Miss Gisela, I have something of yours." He reached into his coat and produced the sack of coins. "I know not of this trickery, but I will have no part of it."

There was a long brittle silence souring through the air after that. Gisela adjusted her hood and Bard flinched slightly at her icy stare. Her voice was dry and cold. "Trick? You think I would trick you, Master Bargeman? Was it a trick that I brought your pathetic self back to your family last evening?"

Bard's face grew darker. "That is appreciated, Miss Gisela but this gesture … and how you knew - "

"I did not," Gisela interrupted. "You merely told me with your drunken ramblings."

Nettled by her forthrightness and being made to feel a fool, Bard forcibly dumped the coins in her gloved hands. "I am fully capable of providing for my family, and this is nothing more than an insult."

Gisela's fingers clenched the sack of coins tightly within her grasp. For a moment she simply gazed at them, her expression hidden beneath the brim of her cowl.

"Very well," she replied tonelessly, raising an impassive face to Bard's. "Have it your way, Master Bargeman. I am sorry if I offended you." Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away down the street, tossing the sack of coins into the lake as if they were merely the bones of a dead animal.

* * *

**Thoughts? :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **

**Wow. Wow guys. I did not expect such positive feedback! I cannot express how thankful I am! I guess I'm kind of feeling a bit of pressure to keep you all entertained with each chapter. I felt I owed you all a longer chapter and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment, it was quite fun to write more about Laketown and its politics. Once again, please let me know what you think and if there's any inconsistencies Constructive criticism is always welcomed.**

**ZubuzasGirl:** _I have indeed updated! Hope you enjoy this new chapter. _

**DalonegaNoquisi:** _I saw you reviewed my Walking Dead story :) Thankyou very much! I will be continuing it very soon, but I'm concentrating on this fic for the time being. I'm very glad you like the story so far! You'll find out in this chapter whether Bard saw Gisela throw away the coins or not. _

**HeavensWeatherHellsCompany:** _Your'e damn right Luke Evans is hot :) He sort of looks like the lovechild of Jonny Depp and Orlando Bloom, no?_

**Lucy: **_It's my pleasure to write a Bard/OC - he doesn't get enough love. _

**FleurDespoir** _Thanks for the encouraging words! I've fallen into the Mary Sue trap before (a few years ago) but i'm glad Gisela's character has kept you interested. _

**Nylwenn:** _Glad to have you on board Nylwenn. Laketown is a lot of fun to write and you'll find some more __descriptions in this new chapter. Enjoy!_

**CeruleanBlue20:** _More stuff on Laketown in this chapter... hope you like!_

**Punkywahammer:** _More - as promised :) _

**DonStyles:** _It means a lot you've checked out my other stories, and I really appreciate the compliment. Hopefully you like this new chapter. _

**Futuramafan: **_Here you go! _

**Anyways, I present to you chapter three! **

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Bard flipped the collar on his coat and sighed as snowflakes attached to his eyelashes. He crouched low in the snow behind a thorn bush, bow ready in his hand as it had been all morning and trained his eyes on a pheasant nearby. It was a clean shot.

Stealthily, he got to his feet and notched an arrow into the string, waiting for the unsuspecting pheasant to edge closer. Seconds later, he released his grip and the arrow sung through the air and hit it's target in a shower of feathers. Bard crept from his hiding place and picked up his prize by the legs, examining it closely with a frown. It was more plumage than meat. Not enough for a stew or even a pie but nevertheless food. Sighing heavily, he bagged the bird along with the three other pheasants he caught and set off down the heathland, careful not to slip on the thick virgin snow which had settled overnight.

In the distance, a strip of green daylight crested the Iron Hills and Bard knew he had to be quick before anybody saw him. Winter had come early this year, far to early, bringing with it blizzards and glacial winds from the Lonely Mountain. The farmers in the surrounding foothills, Esgaroth relied on for most of their food had been surprised by the sudden strike of winter, and even more surprised when it dug in deep and fast, destroying valleys and fields of crops. Worst of all, the Long Lake had become a vast sheet of treacherous ice, preventing boats from travelling up to Mirkwood for trade. This quickly caused a food shortage throughout the entire city, felt especially by those who worked the boats.

There were few good weapons kept in town, and only the City Guard were armed. The Master deemed it dangerous that civilians be armed and hastily passed a law that anyone without a permit or entered Mirkwood with even a bread-knife, would hang in the marketplace for threatening their fragile alliance. Bard gritted his teeth at the thought. The Master was a foolish and paranoid man. Even the Elves of Mirkwood knew friend from foe and the Bowman had traded with them many times, given access into their borders to hunt for more prestigious game rarely found in the foothills.

Movement in the trees caught his eye and Bard stopped. A large buck was just visible in the treeline, standing on its haunches to eat the leaves on the lower branches of a pine. Bard's heart began to race; his family would be fed for an entire month but the risk of being caught carrying a deer back into Esgaroth was too great. He pursed his lips in annoyance; food was becoming scarce in his household and he wasn't sure how much longer his children would eat his porridge with good grace.

He wrenched his eyes off the succulent deer and reluctantly began his journey towards the edge of the lake, frustration coursing through him. The sky was now a light blue, illuminating the shivering blot which was Esgaroth in the distance. Crossing the lake was the hardest part of his journey, and Bard took the route furthest from the town centre, where folk kept themselves to themselves and kept loyalty to each other above loyalty to the law.

Climbing onto an abandoned jetty, Bard concealed his game-bag beneath a separate cloak and made his way down an abandoned street. The houses were shabby, and the air smelt thick with tar and faeces. A dark figure stirred in the shadows of an empty stall and Bard saw that it was a young boy sitting on a barrel watching him closely with wide, innocent eyes. His hands, once pale were nearly blue as he gnawed on a discarded chicken bone.

Bard quickened his pace. He crossed over the crooked bridge to his house, and opened the door. He caught a brief glimpse of his kitchen; then there was a loud shout, followed by a strained sob and his vision completely obscured by a large quantity of blonde hair. Sigrid had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Bain hovered nearby looking worried.

"Papa! Thank goodness you're here! Tilda – she – "

"What's happened?" Bard declared, dumping his bag of game onto the table. Terrible scenarios of Alfrid stopping by with the eviction notice swirled through his mind, but Sigrid's tearful face spoke of something different. "Sigrid, what's happened? Where's Tilda?"

His eldest daughter wiped her eyes. "In bed... she started vomiting this morning before you left … there's also a rash all over her body!"

Bard felt his stomach drop. Without asking for further information he crossed the kitchen to the children's room, where Tilda was lying asleep in one of the three tightly packed beds. He sank to his knees and touched his youngest daughter's forehead; it burned beneath his palm. A red rash was visible beneath her collar.

"What's wrong with her, Papa?" Sigrid asked worriedly from the door. "I've not seen her like this before."

"Nor have you," Bard replied quietly, dread coursing through is body like poison. "She has scarlet fever ... she needs medicine."

A dry sob escaped Sigrid's throat and sat down next to Bard, who wrapped an arm around her. "What can we do? We have no money for expensive remedies and the apothecary is closed."

An image of gold coins shining in a bag suddenly blazed through Bard's mind, and a surge of guilt accompanied his dread. Scarlet fever was common in Laketown, especially with children and the mortality rate was extremely high. Only the rich could afford physicians or foreign medicine, but he was a Bargeman. Their only hope lay in homemade herbal remedies and pray that Tilda's tiny body could fight off the worst of the infection. Bard rose to his feet and entered the kitchen, his mind racing.

Sigrid, who had some basic knowledge of healing from her mother, busied herself with a poultice. Bain on the other hand, was gazing at him for answers but Bard had none. Silently, he offered his son the bag of game to prepare and stepped out onto the porch which overlooked the canal to clear his head. All the problems he had locked away in the back of his mind, had surfaced. He could no longer run from the truth; he was penniless, he was starving and now his youngest daughter was seriously ill. He felt the tears roll down. He was breaking, and the pain from promises he could not keep hit him with full force.

The time had come to reveal the truth.

Bard focussed all his attentions on Tilda for the remainder of the day, assisting Sigrid who regularly gave her sister infusions of elderflower to keep her hydrated. Despite their best efforts, the fever raged on and the rash had spread up Tilda's back and across her chest.

"She's fallen asleep," Sigrid muttered that evening, stepping out from the bedroom. "I've given her another draught of elderflower and applied another poultice to her head but other than that I ..." She trailed off and collapsed into a chair next to Bard beside the fire, who was sharpening some long branches into arrow shafts.

"Take some rest, Sigrid," he said gently. "You have done more than enough."

Sigrid rubbed her tired eyes, then without warning burst into tears. Bain, who had been slicing the pheasants hurried over to comfort his sister.

"I'm so sorry, Papa!" Sigrid sobbed. "I just hate seeing her like this! She's so tiny and helpless!

"Is there nothing we can do, Papa?" Bain enquired as he patted Sigrid on the back. "Nothing at all?"

Bard paused in his carving and put aside his instruments. He combed a hand through the loose strands of his dark hair. "I fear not," he replied slowly, carefully watching his children's faces. "There is something I must tell you both and I can only hope that you can forgive me."

Sigrid's sobs subsided slightly as both she and Bain stared at their father. To their discomfort, a single tear was tracking down his unshaven cheeks. "Two weeks ago, the Civil Servant Alfrid presented me with an eviction notice on this house. My wages were being taxed left, right and centre so I hadn't enough money to pay the landlord … that was why I … had a little too much to drink that night." He nodded towards Sigrid, and he was startled to see the hurt on her face.

"On Papa!" she declared, kneeling down beside Bard and grasping his hands. "Why did you not tell us? We would not have cared!"

Guilt flood his expression as Sigrid opened her arms to embrace him, but he gently pushed her away.

"Papa?"

He raised his eyes, both hands clasped stiffly between his legs. "I am so sorry, my dearest Sigrid," he implored as fresh tears began to glisten in his eldest daughter's blue eyes. "I have been a fool, a terrible fool. There is something else I have hid from you …" he took a deep breath. "Gisela … the Widow planted a bag of gold coins in my coat … having learned of our plight - "

"That's great news Pa! So we're rich!" shouted Bain excitedly but he was silenced by a look from Sigrid, who was listening intently, her expression hard to read.

"I found the coins the next morning, and I fell victim to one of man's biggest weaknesses; pride. I confronted her about the coins, convinced they were a trick. I felt insulted that she thought us poor, when she alone sits on her wealth just as greedily as her father. I did not trust her, but I was mistaken."

Heavy silence filled the room like settling snow. Bain's mouth was open slightly, but Sigrid's tear-filled gaze had frosted over.

After a few seconds, she spoke. "So, did she take back the money?"

Bard swallowed the lump of tension in his throat. Sigrid had never spoken so coldly before and it greatly unsettled him. "Perhaps ... but I had insulted her most highly."

Sigrid's nostrils were flaring, just as her mother's used to whenever she was furious. She stood. "So what do we do? All we have to eat is burnt porridge and some scrawny pheasants. Your damn right you're a fool, Papa."

"Don't call him that!" Bain piped up as he stared at his sister's outburst.

"I say what I like, Bain!" Sigrid snarled at her younger brother, her hair now falling out of it's bun. "We're homeless! We have no money! Tilda will – " A sob got caught in her throat and before Bard or Bain could stop her, she grabbed a woollen cloak and left the house in a whirl of rage.

Gisela had finished lighting the last of her candles when she noticed the blur of blonde hair rippling through the gap of her permanently drawn velveteen curtains. She stepped back, letting the chink in the fabric fall closed, as frantic knocking echoed through the dark, cavernous corners of her house. Pursing her lips, she snatched a silken cowl to cover her curtain of dark hair and went to receive her unexpected guest.

Slowly, she opened her front door. Sigrid was stood shivering on the doorstep, her face red with cold. A few virgin snowflakes had settled in her wild nest of hair.

"Gisela!" she gasped as Gisela opened the door. "I'm so sorry to trouble you! May I - " Her teeth were chattering and the cold air was slowly filtering into Gisela's preciously warm house. Biting back her annoyance, she allowed the girl to pass and closed the door with a snap.

"Sit here," she ordered, leading Sigrid into her lounge where a large fire crackled merrily beneath a grand marble hearth. The girl gladly obliged and perched herself on a stool rubbing her hands, whilst glancing in mild awe at her new surroundings; every inch of the room was furnished with highly polished oak walls and ornate tapestries but like it's owner, the place possessed a neglectful and cheerless air which sapped the grandeur of its former glory.

Gisela stepped into the sickly light of her candles, lips pursed. "I know why you are here, Sigrid."

The younger girl appeared not to hear her; she was gazing wondrously up at a large faded portrait hanging above the fire. A young man and woman clad in extravagant clothes stared happily from the picture, cradling a baby in their arms. Gisela followed Sigrid's gaze towards the portrait, the face of the smiling woman with thick, raven hair reflecting in her eyes. Her stomach clenched in anger.

"She looks like you, Gisela," Sigrid continued, oblivious to the older woman's discomfort. "You look so beautiful. Is that your husband?"

At the mention of Elbert, Gisela turned white. "Do not speak of him."

"I did not mean - "

"You're a foolish girl," Gisela said coldly. "I know why you are here, and my answer is no."

Sigrid gave a strangled cry. "Please, Gisela! I've come to ask your forgiveness for my father … please forgive him … I don't know what will happen to us!"

"Your family is no concern of mine. Your circumstances are unfortunate but unfortunately I'm all out of kindness."

Another sob escaped Sigrid and she sank weakly to her knees, tears falling thick and fast down her face. Gisela watched awestruck as the girl's body shook with anguish, and felt her anger fade away in spite of herself. Admittedly, she was surprised at the girl's desperation; Alfrid liked to play his games and posing the threat of evicting Bard's family would only rile up the people of Esgaroth but there was no telling with that man.

Gisela swept a careful eye over the younger girl and noticed Sigrid's face was hollower the last time they met, her skin paler. Purple bags were forming under her eyes, ageing her appearance by five years. Sighing, she crossed the room and cut a slice of fruitcake she was planning to eat before bed and offered it to Sigrid who blinked in surprise.

"Eat," she urged.

The younger girl obliged and stuffed the cake into her mouth.

"I cannot forgive your father, Sigrid," Gisela said coolly, hitching her skirts to sit on a chair with a glass of Dorwinion wine. "He has grossly offended me."

"He said you took back the money," Sigrid said without thinking. "Is that true?"

Gisela's eyes flashed and she adjusted the hem of her cowl. "No … I … tossed them into the lake."

"What? Why?"

Gisela stirred uncomfortably. In truth, a bag of golden coins was no real loss but the shocked expression on Sigrid's face spoke otherwise. A golden coin could buy her a dress of Rhunish silk or a silver pendant.

"I know Papa has hurt you but he trusts nobody," Sigrid implored through a mouthful of bread when Gisela chose not to answer. "He's a proud man and we're all he's got … three children … please … we have nothing … I will even be your maid to pay you back … please

"I have no need of a maid, Sigrid."

"But your house is big and I would happily serve you!"

Gisela winced as a few crumbs landed on her carpet. "Swallow before speaking, girl," she said with a bite of impatience. "I am sorry, Sigrid. My answer is final … I admire your love for your father and your nerve for coming to my home, but I cannot help you."

An anguished cry came from the fire. Gisela rolled her eyes as Sigrid buried her face in despair.

"Come now, Sigrid ..."

"You don't know what it's like, Gisela," Sigrid said in a low voice throbbing with emotion. "My sister has scarlet fever and I fear the worst … if you have anything which can help her fever I will leave and never bother you again."

Gisela stared. Scarlet fever was deadly unless treated by the right hands; if Tilda's state was as bad as Sigrid claimed, there was little hope. The only cure would be blood-letting. Gisela knew the basic understandings of the procedure from books but had never carried it out. She highly doubted Bard would allow anyone to puncture a hole in his daughter's skin … unless … she looked at Sigrid who was watching her closely.

"You are possibly the most brazen girl I have ever known, Sigrid," Gisela said thinly, "Had you been another person, I would have locked you out in the snow and left you to freeze. I am not in the habit of giving charity but I see that you love your sister dearly and Scarlet fever is very serious indeed." She took a deep breath and reluctantly continued. "I will help you just this one time more, Sigrid ... for your sister's sake. I only pray your father keeps a civil tongue and has seen sense."

Sigrid's face broke into a watery smile of relief and before Gisela could stop her, the younger girl embraced her tightly.

"Oh Gisela! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"It'a fine ... It's fine ..."

Gisela awkwardly patted her on the back and hastily adjusted her cowl when they withdrew. She offered Sigrid the rest of the fruitcake and went upstairs to collect one of her precious books on healing, whilst filling a seperate pouch with her own personal healing balms.

Large flakes were falling from the sky as they stepped outside, and their breath rose in a mist before them. Sigrid shivered, but Gisela knew she was warmer than before having replaced the pitiful woollen cloak for one her own thick winter ones. Together, they walked in companionable silence through the snow back to Sigrid's house, unaware of the cold eyes watching them from the shadows nearby.

* * *

**I'm considering in getting a beta for this story. If you're interested please PM me, and of course let me know your thoughts so far :)**

**I've done some research into scarlet fever in the Middle Ages and it was a pretty deadly thing to catch, especially in children. It was difficult to find Medieval cures specifically for Scarlet Fever so I opted for general cures for high fevers, such as blood-letting and herbal remedies. Please let me know if something doesn't sound right :) **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note. **

**Well ladies and gents, I am back! I can't quite believe how much attention this fic has received since I last updated ten days ago, and all I can say is thank you! 38 reviews? Wow! If I don't get this chapter right I'm definitely going to look ridiculous :P **

**Anyway, I'm also excited to let you guys know that I've FINALLY established the details of the plot and the next chapter is in full swing. I would also like to thank Maddie Rose for sharing her thoughts on this story and helping me tweak any errors.**

** I received one very insightful review on medieval medicines for fevers – or specifically Scarlet Fever. (having failed miserably at finding some myself). So I dropped the blood-letting idea, and did more research and discovered a great site on old Indian healing practices. It was one of the best websites where I could find a good detailed description on how to heal blood pressure, so I took some artistic licence and incorporated the herbs they used into the Tolkien world. I hope it sounds okay, please feel free to give me your thoughts. **

**Anyway, as promised here are my replies to your reviews. **

**Theheartsbeat: **_You are exactly right. Also, Gisela doesn't see throwing gold away as a huge deal because she is wealthy but she also has high morals. Anyways, hope you enjoy this next chapter! _

**NightRider – **_Continued :) _

**Angel Fire: -**_Next chapter updated. Enjoy!_

**Nigri: **_I hope you enjoy this new chapter!_

**Guest: **_You'll find out in this chapter!_

**QuitePeculiar: **_Hope you enjoy this latest chapter!_

**Salome Maranya: **_I googled "Tsundere" and I definitely agree this term applies to Gisela. You'll see more of a different side to her in this chapter and Bard too. _

**Cormallen: **_Thanks for your kind words and you flatter me! Lol There are other great Bard OC's on here and each one is different, just like every author. I just wish there were more Bard stories on here!_

**Guest: **_I know you don't have an account on here but I just wanted to personally thank you for your fantastic knowledge of medieval remedies for fevers! You helped a lot with this chapter, and I hope the herbal remedies I have included don't sound too far-fetched for the Tolkien-verse. I also took your advice and dropped the blood-letting idea and adapted with other remedies. Your feedback has been invaluable, and I truly hope you enjoy this next instalment! _

**Catnipevergreen: **_Oh yes, Laketown is a lot of fun to write and there will definitely be more featured in chapter five. _

**Lynnelay: **_Many more to come!_

**Surinder: **_Thanks for the encouragement! Hope you like this next chapter!_

**HeavensWeatherHellsCompany: **_I'm very happy to hear your day got better from my story and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. _

**Lucy: **_Thanks for such a lovely review :) It's true when they say your writing improves the more you read and write and I think my skills are becoming stronger with each chapter. _

**TinaG646: **_I know, there does need to be more :( _

**Dalonega Noquisi: **_Thanks hun :) And you'll find out whether or not it was Alfrid :)_

**Wingthing: **_The plot indeed does indeed thicken and I agree how easy it is to fall into the Mary Sue trap (although I still worry sometimes Gisela is becoming too much of one sometimes? Or no?) Anyway, enjoy ch4!_

**CeruleanBlue20: **_Updated! _

**Thanks guys! Anyways, on with the show!**

* * *

**Chapter Four. **

"Where have you been Alfrid? My stomach feels atrocious! I think it was the lampreys!"

A hunched figure stepped into the candlelight, dipping into a ridiculously low bow. Alfrid's cheeks were ruddy with cold and a few snowflakes were steadily dripping off his hat onto the floor, but nevertheless his face positively shone with glee at what he had just witnessed.

"My sincerest apologies, Master," he said approaching the Master. "I bring most interesting news."

The Master sat up at these words, frowning deeply. "Oh really? Pray tell!"

Alfrid grinned. "You will never believe but I have just seen one of the Bard girls enter your daughter's – I mean the Widow's abode this evening … Sigunn or whatever her name is … the eldest child of the Bargeman."

The Master's frown became more pronounced. He raised a garishly jewelled hand to his moustache, stroking the wispy strands whilst lost in thought. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "How strange … how very strange indeed."

"Quite," Alfrid agreed with another nod of his head. "You were right in asking me to watch her closely after I saw her little rescue mission the other week."

A vein began to throb in the Master's temple. "Blasted woman!" he boomed, upsetting a pot of ink on the side table. "I always knew she would be a problem, even after that peacock of a husband of hers perished in the fire, leaving her – a woman - with all that money!" He twisted a purple face to Alfrid who was dutifully cleaning up the spilt ink and plumping his pillows. "Why on earth is she spending time with that foolish Bargeman?"

Alfrid shrugged. "One can only guess, Master but it is most strange indeed."

"Maybe she ..." He trailed off. The vein began to pulsate, and the Master's face became the colour of porridge. "Gods no. Alfrid, do you think she knows of Bard's eviction?"

Alfrid hesitated and chose his words carefully. "I cannot be sure, your Greatness. I never took Gisela to be the - ah - charitable sort."

"She's a woman, Alfrid," snorted the Master, gesturing for the Civil Servant to pass him a nearby flagon of ale. "All women are foolish creatures and careless with money! Why do you think I never remarried? I'll be damned if she is helping that troublemaker Bard. I will not have it, I say!" He took a long swig of ale and wiped the dregs off his beard. "Champion of the people indeed."

"I heartily agree, your Supremeness," Alfrid fawned, "the man is a meddlesome fool, indeed. What shall be done?"

The Master took another draught of ale and suppressed a loud burp, brow furrowed in thought. He almost despised Gisela as much as the Bargeman; the thought of his own daughter living in so much wealth caused him a great deal of painful envy. It was he, the patriarch of their family and the ruler of Esgaroth, who should possess her riches, not some dried up spinster approaching her thirties. By common law, she was entitled to Elbert's gold and old enough to choose her own husband.

Bard was another thorn in the side. Riots had broken out three summers ago over starvation. It had gotten so bad, bodies were piled up in the streets before they could be shipped to the graveyard on the shore. The Bargeman had been the one to speak out. It had been Bard who forced his hand to relieve taxes on food and wine, swiftly becoming an influential figure within the town: a spokesman for the people. A threat.

The Master felt the lampreys somersault in his stomach at the memory, and he took another long sip of ale.

"Double the spies on Bard's house," the Master demanded, shifting uncomfortably in his pillows. "And closely follow the Widow. Never let her out of your sight. I want to know what her motives are."

Alfrid stepped back and nodded deeply. "It is done, Master."

* * *

The snow was falling thick and fast by the time Gisela reached Sigrid's house. Her thin cowl flapped uselessly in the wind as they crossed over the steep bridge, and her leather shoes sopping wet. Hands clumsy with cold, Sigrid fumbled with the doorknob but the moment she twisted it, the door swung open and a pair of large hands dragged her swiftly inside. Gisela could hear cries of relief coming from the gap in the door. Swallowing a nervous lump in her throat, she followed after Sigrid and quietly closed the door behind her. Nobody had noticed her presence; Bard had Sigrid in a tight embrace, his body shaking. A young boy hovered nearby and Gisela assumed this was Bard's only son. She ran a close over his appearance, noting how similar his grey eyes matched his fathers.

"Oh Papa, I'm so sorry I ran away," Sigrid wept, her voice slightly muffled against Bard's overcoat. "It was so thoughtless! You must have been so worried!Can you forgive me?"

Both father and daughter drew apart. Bard gazed down at his eldest daughter, torn between relief and anger. "Never do that to me again, Sigrid! I've been out looking for you everywhere!" Sigrid had the grace to look ashamed. "I even considered asking the city guard to help me!"

"I'm so sorry Papa! Truly!"

"I don't know what I'd do if – if something had happened to you." He heaved a great sigh and collapsed onto a stool, one hand supporting his face. "I'd never forgive myself … never."

Gisela understood his anguish all too well, and she felt her insides twitch uncomfortably. She cleared her throat to pacify the situation and stepped forth, resisting the urge to remove her wet cowl which clung to her neck like icy fingers.

"Evening, Bard."

The hand slowly lowered from the Bowman's face. Grey eyes shrewdly drank in her frozen appearance. Realising she wasn't a threat or in no way angry about their last meeting, Bard gave a sharp nod of his head which Gisela understood as a greeting. A simple "evening miss" would have sufficed, but she supposed the Bargeman had just been out looking for his daughter in a blizzard.

"I once more return to your abode, escorting another member of your family. You'll find Sigrid quite well."

Bard frowned at her tone. He looked over at Sigrid who was watching their exchange nervously.

"I went to her house," she explained apologetically, determinedly picking at her nails.

"You did what?" exclaimed Bard, while Bain's eyes widened. He dragged a well-worn hand through his hair and sighed. "That was not a courteous thing to do, Sigrid. I thought I brought you up better than this."

"It is no matter," Gisela assured him. "Sigrid was quite distressed and very cold. I allowed her into my home to calm down and warm up."

Bard's frown faded slightly at these words.

"She gave me fruitcake," Sigrid said in a small voice in an attempt to lighten the mood. "And I brought some back!"

"Really?" piped up Bain excitedly as Sigrid produced a squashed package from her cloak. She opened the wrappings on the table and Bain cried delightedly as the juicy cake was revealed. Without askance, he grabbed a knife and cut himself a large slice. Bard silently watched his hungry children for a few moments before turning back to Gisela.

"Thank you for bringing Sigrid home. It is much appreciated. I can provide you with dry clothing for your return."

"Papa!" Sigrid reproached from the table. "Gisela has come to help Tilda."

Bard paled. "Absolutely not."

"Papa!" Sigrid stomped over, arms folded and a steely glint in her blue eyes reminiscent of her mother. "Please, she can help us!"

Bard leapt to his feet. "I am sorry. Tilda is my daughter and we can help her ourselves."

"I highly doubt you can, Bard," Gisela interrupted sternly, the Bowman's stubbornness finally cracking her patience. "You should listen to your daughter. We both know why Sigrid came to my house and I do not think ill of her or your family. She spoke of her sister with scarlet fever and I am here to offer my help."

"And what is it you offer?" he asked with forced politeness, suppressed anger in each word.

"Medicine," Gisela declared, stepping forwards with bright eyes. "Medicine my husband bought from the East. He was a skilful healer."

"I do not trust medicine from the East."

"Then you're more of a fool than I thought!" Gisela snapped, drawing herself up to full height. She had not felt this angry in a long time and it greatly unsettled her. Bard's eyes were flashing dangerously and before he could open his mouth to protest, Sigrid had stepped between them.

"Enough, please! Papa, I trust Gisela and so should you!"

Gisela watched how the Bowman's face worked furiously for a few seconds, then recognising defeat, he crumpled onto the stool. Bain, who had watched the argument in stunned silence, crept over and covertly stole another slice of fruitcake before sweeping back into a shadowy corner of the kitchen.

"I agree with Sigrid, Pa," he said through a large mouthful. "I say we trust, Gisela! She helped us before!"

Bard's chest deflated and he removed the hand from his face. He looked from Bain's hopeful expression, to Sigrid's hardened one and realising he would be making another huge mistake, he reluctantly jerked his head in approval. Sigrid bent down and embraced him warmly, all the while the Bowman closely watched Gisela through his eldest daughter's arms. Gisela did not feel intimidated by his stare, nor offended. She knew how stubborn a man could be but all she truly cared about was that his youngest daughter now stood a chance of battling one of childhood's deadliest fevers.

"I suppose we have no time to lose," said Gisela, shrugging off her cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her black dress. "Bard, I will teach both you and Sigrid how to use the medicines I have brought. It is imperative you listen and do not forget. Sigrid, can you read?"

Sigrid swapped awkward looks with Bard. It was the latter who spoke. "Yes, but only so much."

Gisela smiled warmly to relieve Sigrid's embarrassment. She knew Bard was educated but knew little of their mother's background; the Bowman would have had little time to improve his eldest daughter's education having to work the boats each day to feed his family. "It matters not, Sigrid, the instructions are quite basic. I can tell you the rest myself."

Sigrid's face relaxed, and Gisela led her and Bard into the children's bedroom (Bain kept a watchful eye in the kitchen and over the fruitcake). The room was dark and smelt of damp; it moved Gisela to see such a tiny body in an overlarge bed. Tilda's face was deathly pale, contrasting dangerously to the livid rash searing across her skin. Beads of sweat glistened on her skin, and a sinister rattle echoed from her throat with each breath.

Gisela stole a glance at Bard and she could see anguish blazing in his eyes.

"So … what do you think?" he asked, swallowing as he gazed upon his youngest daughter. Gisela knelt down and felt her forehead. She bit her lip. In truth, the girl was in the most serious stage of the illness. From the open collar of her cotton shift, the rash covered most of her chest and body and her temperature was critically high.

She breathed deeply. "I will not lie to you … Tilda is very ill. At this stage, blood-letting would be an option - "

"No," Bard cut in firmly. "I will not have you carry out that heathen practice."

"Please allow me to finish," Gisela continued, struggling to stay polite. One of her biggest pet-peeves was being interrupted. It was highly rude. She opened her bag of medicines and set them out before Bard and Sigrid. "I have with me two herbs which may help Tilda. The first one is a common Rhunish herb known to bring down high fevers. The second is a most curious plant. In Elvish it is called 'Malen Thond' or in Westron, Yellow Root," she unscrewed a golden-plated pot full of yellow powder and passed it to Sigrid who gazed at it curiously. "It grows in the pastures of Dorwinion, and is little more than a weed to the devoted orchid farmers but it's healing properties are vast. It can be crushed into a poultice to heal swellings and sores but most importantly, it can be made into a tea to reduce blood-pressure. Be warned however, you must only use a small amount … too much of Malen Thond can be toxic."

Sigrid passed the container to Bard who gazed at it warily. "Worry not, Master Bargeman. I know of the safe amount to use."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked her quietly as Sigrid flicked through Gisela's book with keen interest. "You said your husband had been the healer, not you."

Gisela's face darkened and she idly brushed a golden curl from Tilda's eyes. "My own son had the same ailment, Master Bargeman. He was four and survived from the use of these remedies."

The hardness behind Bard's grey eyes faded slightly and Gisela was grateful for his silence. Determined to move on from the topic of her son, Gisela grabbed the book from Sigrid and found the right page on how to prepare the foreign medicines. For the remainder of the evening, she instructed both Sigrid and Bard how to use the medicines effectively and help produce an infusion of Malen Thond to relieve Tilda's blood-pressure. Knowing of his daughter's talents for healing, Bard allowed for his eldest daughter to take the lead and he stood back, watching in grudging admiration as the Widow taught Sigrid all she knew; explaining foreign terms and praising Sigrid on her knowledge of poultice-making.

* * *

Having given Tilda the last infusion of Malen Thond, Bard stepped out from the children's room and entered the warm kitchen. The stress of the evening had finally taken hold and he went over to the kitchen to pour himself an ale, stashed secretly away in a tall cupboard. He took a sip, closing his eyes as the bitter tang of the beverage rolled over his tongue, momentarily losing himself in his numbing senses. A stab of guilt gnawed at him but the Bowman knew there would be no repeat of last time. Even though he was a man who prided himself on self-control, his mind was stressed, his brain was tired and he needed some relief.

As he drained the last dregs of the ale, he realised Gisela had unwittingly drifted off on her pile of pillows in the corner. Like himself, she had been exhausted in helping Sigrid bring down Tilda's heat. The night had been long and tense and the Widow was splayed out in a rather unladylike fashion unbecoming of her usual prickly character; the woollen blanket was pulled to her chin, accidentally slipping off the cowl which permanently concealed her face as a thin hand dangled above the floor.

Bard found himself edging closer, studying the Widow's face closely. It was the first time he had seen her so unguarded. In truth, she was a beauty. Unbrushed strands of dark hair threaded with grey fell across her features, softer now she slept. The scar which she was loathe to reveal ran from the corner of her thin lips, giving them a drooped quality. There was certainly no trace of her father, so Bard assumed her dark beauty belonged to her mother, a woman perhaps hailing from the East.

A small frown quirked Gisela's brow and she stirred restlessly. Before Bard could turn away, Gisela opened her eyes. It took several seconds for her to realise her face was exposed and she snatched the fallen cowl, tying it irritably around her neck. Bard suddenly became very interested in filling the kettle with water.

"How long have I slept?" Gisela asked, watching his determined back with faint amusement.

"Two hours maybe," he replied shortly.

"How are the girls?" she continued, ignoring his curtness.

"Asleep." Eventually, he turned to face her, holding the kettle. "Would you like some tea?"

Gisela yawned largely and nodded. "Yes please, that would be lovely."

The Bowman merely gave a jerk of his head and boiled the kettle, while Gisela waited patiently. After a few minutes he poured the herbal liquid and handed Gisela a cup who thanked him. She could still sense Bard was awkward of her being in his home, so she invited the Bowman to sit beside her and put some peace between them. He obliged.

"It is no easy task running this family alone," he said tiredly, after a few moments. "Sometimes I think it's harder raising daughters than killing dragons," he risked a look at Gisela and saw that she was smiling faintly. "My wife, Allis, liked things to be organised and the simplicity of routine. I don't know how she did it, for I even fail at cooking porridge."

A small laugh escaped Gisela and for the first time she saw the corners of Bard's eyes crease in warmth. The change was rather alarming at first, for it transformed his usually grim face into one of softness.

"May I ask how Allis – your wife – passed away?"

Bard sighed heavily. "The gods took her when Tilda was born. She has never known her mother and looks to me as both parents."

"I am sorry to hear that," replied Gisela. She sounded genuine and Bard realised that she too had loved and lost; not just a husband but a child also.

"I remember the fire," Bard said in a quiet voice. "A giant, roaring thing it was. Even though I lost Allis differently, I am sorry for the loss of your family. Nothing that I have ever felt will ever compare to how – or when – I'm – please forgive me – I did not mean-"

"Do not worry," Gisela said, as Bard stumbled over his words, convinced he had offended her again. For the first time in five years, she truly accepted a person's condolences. Tears threatened but she pushed them back. "I miss them every day. I'll never forget how Elias used to chew my hair as a baby or ride his wooden horse when he was eight. My husband, Elbert, was kind to me despite his arrogance," she paused and glanced at Bard who was listening closely. "Gossip has been right about these years, Bard. In many ways I am like my father, especially when I was a merchant's wife. I was a very selfish woman. Only in the past five years have I become humbled by their deaths."

"Do you ever speak to the Master of Laketown?"

Gisela shook her head. "I lost all love for him when mother died. He was too busy drinking ale and bedding tavern whores to worry about my happiness."

"That does not surprise me," he replied bitterly. "I admit I have been a fool these past weeks, Gisela. I thought you a trickster, but we both share common ground," he broke off, and Gisela caught him stealing a glance at her burns. Becoming uncomfortable, she stood and produced an elaborate leather box from her bag nearby.

"I forgive you Bard. And I hope this time you do not reject this gift," she plonked the leather box in his hands, smiling slightly at his confused expression. She opened it revealing a set of ugly gold rings emblazoned with otters and other water creatures belonging to the Lake. "This once belonged to my father. He gave it to Elbert as a bribe when we were newly married. I have no use of these rings, but they are highly valuable. Keep them well and you should find you can pay your rent more than tenfold. Keep a roof over their heads, Bard. Keep them safe."

* * *

**So it was Alfrid ;) I was a bit nervous to write the Master and Alfrid without them both becoming Pantomime villains but I hope to flesh them out in future chapters. Also, apologies if this chapter seemed quite slow-paced but I don't want to rush anything between Gisela and Bard's characters. More action in the next chapter guys, things are about to get interesting. I have some surprises in store!**

**Feedback is welcomed and much appreciated :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Well I'm back! I promised more action and surprises, and I hope I've delivered! I quite enjoyed writing this chapter ... it's a bit longer than the others but I'm a tad worried it may seem rushed? If anyone think so, please let me know!**

**Once more, a big thanks to Maddie Rose for checking over the story.**

**Guest: **_Done, and updated!_

**HersheyMD: **_thank you, I find dialogue one of the hardest things to write!_

**Maddie Rose:** _ahaha I can imagine Bain steadily gaining more weight as the story continues, covertly eating fruitcake in the sidelines. _

**Guest:** _You will do in this chapter!_

**Ceruleanblu:** _your'e spot on about the context of Malen Thond, and I'm glad you think it fits into the world of Tolkien. _

**Just4Me:** They certainly do, and you'll find out more in this chapter.

**UniabocetaP: **_I took your feedback into consideration and I agree about writing less from Alfrid/Master's POV! Great suggestion._

**HeavensWeatherHellsCompany:**_ More Luke Evans action ahoy!_

**RandomReader56:**_I find it quite fun to write the exchanges between Bard and Gisela. There's more I could say on this without giving too much away at the start of the chapter. I suggest you read on! :) _

**Salome Maranya:** _I agree, I'm determined to avoid any instant uncontrollable attraction where they are suddenly an item, that would be incredibly unrealistic. Alfrid and the Master are in this chapter but more about them will be written in CH6 , revealing different sides. _

**Zabuzas Girl: **_Updated!_

**Dalonega Noquisi: **_thank you for reviewing and following the story so far :) I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Five. **

A soft breeze swept in from the East and for the first time in weeks, a bright blue sky blazed above Esgaroth. In Gisela's finely carved residence however, the curtains were closed and the candles blazed in their holders, creating a suffocating atmosphere. A faint moan of discontent came from the bedroom. Gisela stood before her vanity mirror, sweeping a critical eye over her appearance. It was morning, and the ribbon of sunlight which crept through the gap in her curtains illuminated the silver hairs crowning her head.

Gently, she plucked out a few and threw them aside. More were appearing each day, and she silently cursed whichever side of her family she inherited her greying appearance. Possibly her father. The long strands of black hair falling across her shoulders failed to hide the lines crinkling her eyes, and the extra weight she carried on her midriff. If she was to undress, pearly stretch marks from when she carried Elias would be seen but Gisela refused to dwell on such times. They were merely another stain of the past and her rapidly flying future.

She gave her hair another brush and placed her favourite cowl around her head. Behind, she could see the flowerpot Sigrid had given her as a gift peeking behind the curtains and she smiled. The girl had no money to give, but Gisela appreciated it nonetheless.

It was exactly seven days since Gisela gave Sigrid her medicines to treat her sister; Tilda was improving greatly, and already bored of lying in bed. Bard's scepticism had vanished, and Gisela was a welcome guest in their house. Their happiness pleased Gisela but a part of her found their gratitude overbearing. She yearned for the quiet of her home, to read books without Bain asking her for recipes on fruitcake or Tilda tying braids in her hair. The attention was exhausting.

Does that make me selfish? A small voice spoke in the back of her brain. Or have I been alone too long? Gisela closed her eyes then opened them again. The haughty woman looking back at her was without maternal warmth in her eyes, with thin lips drawn into a scowl. She was not Tilda's mother, and nor did she give the child any reason to think otherwise, even though the young girl had faintly called her "Mama" by mistake a few days ago. An innocent mistake? Or a sign she was becoming too involved?

There was also the matter of the eviction notice on Bard's house. Gisela often wondered why neither the landlord nor Alfrid himself hadn't come to call and found their absence ominous. Bard himself had shared his fears on this, but Gisela knew the Bargeman's true concern was his daughter's health. He was no longer the stubborn-faced Bargeman, eyeing her with distrust but a family man, and Gisela couldn't bring herself to spoil their bubble of happiness.

A loud knocking disrupted her train of dark thoughts. Hitching her skirts up, Gisela swept down the stairs and approached the front door. She opened it to find Bard's family standing before her.

"Surprise!" Sigrid exclaimed cheerily.

"What are you doing here?" Gisela asked in astonishment, her gaze resting on Bard who smiled sheepishly. The Bowman was holding Tilda's hand, who was wrapped in thick furs. He opened his mouth to speak but Sigrid overrode him.

"Well, because it's such a beautiful day and Tilda is now better, we thought we'd ask if you wanted to accompany us skating!" She produced a pair of battered skates with a flourish, and Gisela felt her stomach drop. A voice nagged in the back of her head it was too soon for Tilda to be outside but Bard had wrapped his youngest in about five layers of fur. Also, the prospect of skating made her feel slightly sick. It was a self-induced death-sentence! Why go outside into the freezing cold when you could stay inside, warming yourself by a fire and drinking hot tea?

"Skating?"

"Yeah!" said Bain enthusiastically, "everybody is out! You should try it!"

Gisela exchanged looks with Bard. He smiled. "We go every year, Gisela. You are more than welcome to join us."

Tilda and Bain were staring up at her hopefully and Sigrid was positively buzzing with excitement. With the risk of being unpopular and disappointing a young child, Gisela suppressed a long sigh and found herself nodding.

"Oh very well … I suppose a bit of fresh air will do me some good."

Bain cheered and Tilda walked towards her, arms outstretched to be picked up. Gisela resisted at first, but with an encouraging nod from Sigrid, scooped the small girl into her arms.

"How are you feeling, Tilda?" asked Gisela kindly. Tilda's cheeks were red with cold but the rash had all but gone.

"Much better thank you!" was her sweet reply.

Gisela grinned. She briefly stepped back inside and rummaged for her warmest winter clothing. In the end she opted for a cloak lined with rabbit fur, leather boots and a cowl so thick it made her head look two sizes larger.

Sigrid laughed when she stepped out. "You've certainly come prepared!"

Gisela ignored her as she struggled to roll up her leather gloves. In the corner of her eye, Bard failed to stifle a smirk. "Better to be safe than sorry, young Sigrid," Gisela remarked dryly. "I like to be protected from this infernal weather."

Together, Gisela followed Bards family across the large jetty which connected Esgaroth to the shore. Other families were already there, skating with children whose laughter filled the air. Bard handed Gisela a pair of skates, as Sigrid and her siblings tied up their own, eager to get on the ice.

She looked at them doubtfully; the skates were poorly made, with worn whale-bone ribs which acted as the skate.

"I doubt you are used to this," said Bard wryly. "I can teach you if you like."

Gisela raised an eyebrow. The chances of slipping over and breaking her nose seemed highly likely. "No thanks, Bard. You should keep Tilda close."

"Sigrid can take her," he pressed, kicking on his own skates and tying them up. "You should give it a try. You might like it."

"No thanks, I'll watch you all from here."

"As you wish, Miss Gisela. I knew you were too afraid."

"How dare -"

Gisela swelled with indignation, knowing this was Bard's intended reaction. The Bowman was skimming effortlessly across the ice before her, grinning triumphantly as Gisela irritably put on the skates. They were two sizes big for her, but the balance of the whale bone was better than she thought. No sooner had she stepped onto the ice, Bard supported her with his hands. It was a weird sensation having no grip. As they moved further into the lake, Gisela's feet began to flail wildly.

"Just follow my lead," he said, as Gisela clung desperately to his upper arm. "It's a bit like a dance."

"Now you mention it, Bard," Gisela replied breathlessly as she struggled to keep up with Bard's long strides. "I've never been a particularly good dancer. Perhaps I should go to shore and let you enjoy the company of your family?"

"Nice try," Bard chuckled."You're doing so well already."

Liar thought Gisela mulishly, suppressing a smile. Bard's grey eyes were shining with amusement, and she suddenly realised how striking they were. She cleared her throat, determined to rid herself of such silly thoughts.

"I think my skates are too big." This was true. Gisela's feet were slipping to the front of the shoes, throwing her off balance.

He laughed again. "Aye, they belonged to my wife. She had big feet for a such a small woman."

Gisela smiled warmly, feeling the weight of her anxiety lift slightly. It had been years since Gisela had a friend, or at least trusted somebody. She had watched how the Bowman cared for his family, and she was touched. For all his grimness, she saw a gentleness inside him he could not show often. Even his treatment of Gisela was gentle; sometimes the Widow felt a strange hotness in her cheeks and stealing glances at the Bowman laughing with his children. Gisela knew very well what she was feeling and she despised herself for letting such thoughts blind her duty. Her purpose was simple; help Tilda and leave them be. The family had been happy before she came along, and they would be happy when her role was fulfilled. Bard would marry a woman of his social status, who was unblemished and whole, and live for many more years.

"I think you're enjoying this," Bard said, interrupting Gisela's darkening thoughts. She started."Here, try spinning." He raised his arm and Gisela was forced to go under it. Unfortunately, she lost her footing and fell heavily on her back, the cowl slipping off. "Gisela!" A sharp pain ran through her tailbone as the ice froze her skin. Bard offered a gloved hand but Gisela swatted it away, embarrassment and anger coursing through her. A group of passing youths sneered at her misfortune.

"It matters not, Gisela," he consoled, peering down at her. "They are blind fools." He helped her stand. Gisela snatched the cowl from his hands and hastily tied it around her head, heart and mind racing with panic. The Bowman appeared to read her thoughts and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I do not think so." She paused and looked him in the eye. "Thank you."

Bard knew she wasn't thanking him for helping her stand. They stopped for a moment to help Gisela correct her balance and they looked over at Sigrid and Bain helping Tilda glide across the Lake, laughing happily. Sigrid noticed Gisela watching them, and waved over.

"She is very fond of you," Bard said suddenly.

"I know," Gisela replied heavily. "Sigrid is a good girl. She will grow into a beautiful woman and make a lovely wife one day."

"Nobody is good enough for her."

"You are her father," Gisela smirked, glancing sidelong at the Bowman. "Of course you will say that."

"She looks up to you," Bard continued, studying his children fondly. "I have never seen her so happy. The new medicines … your books … she has not had an older woman's influence for a long time ..."

He left the sentence hanging.

"You flatter me," Gisela offered wisely. Sigrid was on the cusp of womanhood and at an age her body was rapidly changing. Admirable as Bard's parenting skills may be, there were many things he would not be prepared for; the stolen smiles at boys passing in the streets, the curves now widening her hips and of course; a woman's moon blood. Gisela could only begin to imagine how difficult it must be for Bard to explain such intimate things to his daughter. "She's a clever girl and I am happy to pass on my knowledge. She may keep any books she desires."

Bard looked at her. "Sometimes I feel your gifts are too rich, Gisela."

"For those not blighted by their love of money, knowledge is far richer than gold. I regret, I have not always held this view over the years."

"Grief can change people in many ways," replied Bard, catching Gisela off-guard. "I understand this." She opened her mouth to speak but Sigrid had skidded over, Bain and Tilda bringing up the rear, their cheeks pink with cold.

"We did five laps around half the Lake!" said Bain delightedly between breaths. "Some children from the market started racing us, and I won!"

"You threw snowballs at them!" Tilda squealed, pointing an accusing finger at Bain. "One fell over!"

"No I didn't!" Bain argued. "Stop lying you little imp! She's lying Pa!"

Tilda's lower lip began to tremble, and with a pointed look from Bard, Gisela helped rally the children towards the shore. Tilda and Bain were still bickering when they took off their skates, their voices drilling through Gisela's brain. Since Bard was reluctant to dish out any form of discipline, she snapped.

"Hush the pair of you!" she said firmly. "Or no fruitcake."

Bain sobered up quickly, looking mildly horrified. It amused her how much the only son of Bard enjoyed fruitcake, but considering their usual diet of bread, fish and Bard's infamous burnt porridge, it wasn't so surprising after all.

"That was cruel," Bard muttered drily into her ear as they all took off their skates and dried themselves off. Gisela searched his face for any sign she had overstepped her mark but the Bowman's eyes were alight with mirth. After a quick examination of Tilda, they all marched back across the jetty towards Esgaroth in high spirits. Gisela had to admit the morning had been fun, and by the time they were in town, she felt quite cheerful. The snowdrifts had melted along the streets, and a few shopkeepers were peeking their heads outside their front doors to examine the change of weather. Instead of stale fish and oil, the smell of fresh bread from the bakery drifted to where they stood.

Gisela felt her mouth water, and with a quick look at the longing expression on Tilda's face, ventured towards the bakery and bought the family two fresh loaves and the largest fruitcake she had ever seen, stuffed with raisins and cherries. Instead of choosing to go back to her personal leisures in the sanctuary of her house, she uncharacteristically accepted Bard's invitation of staying for tea. As they crossed over the steep bridge opposite his house carrying armfuls of food, two dark figures were seen standing outside.

A hunched man approached them. "Well isn't this a merry sight?" His voice was as oily as his hair, and Gisela felt her stomach clench with fear: Alfrid."Gisela! What a surprise! I did not expect you to keep such company. And Bard, how on earth did you afford all that food?"

"What do you want, Alfrid?" Bard said, trying to keep his voice level.

Alfrid's eyes glittered. "Surely you must know." He gestured to his companion and a thin man with a face like a raisin, came forwards.

"That's enough, Alfrid," the old man sighed. "Bard, I apologise to ask you of this but you're three weeks behind on rent. We all have mouths to feed."

"I understand, Erik," Bard replied, "If you follow me, I can pay you."

Gisela saw Alfrid's eyes narrow suspiciously as the family filed into the house. She followed in behind the Civil Servant, fear growing inside her. She didn't like the look playing on Alfrid's face. Erik the landlord waited patiently whilst Bard retrieved a bag containing three of the ten rings Gisela had given them.

"Will these be enough?" he asked, placing the bag in Erik's wrinkled hands. The old man examined the rings with great interest.

"These are fine rings, Bard, I happily accept - "

"Wait a minute." Alfrid reached out and snatched the bag from Erik, turning the rings over in his pale hands. After a few tense seconds, he bagged the rings and pocketed them. "I'm afraid we cannot accept this payment, Bard."

"Why not?" asked Gisela coldly, as shouts of protests rent the kitchen. Bard's face flashed with anger.

"Because these are stolen goods. You see the sign on the inside?" he picked up a ring and showed it to Erik. "This is the Master of Laketown's mark, and it is only the Master of Laketown himself who keeps such treasures."

Erik's eyebrows frothed together as he peered at the small inscription. "I'm not sure, Alfrid, it's hard to tell - "

"Of course it would be his mark, the Master gave them to me years ago when I married and I gave them to Bard!" argued Gisela angrily, understanding what Alfrid was trying to do. He wouldn't, he couldn't …

"Stop your ravings, miser!" Alfrid sneered. "I would be a fool to believe the word of madwoman!"

"She speaks the truth, Erik," Bard implored of his landlord. "I am no thief!"

The old man turned to Alfrid. "I must admit I have trouble believing this … I've known Bard for years and he's never so much stole an apple.."

The Civil Servant looked between Bard and Erik and snapped his fingers. Tilda and Bain screamed as five City guardsmen invaded through the front door, knocking over Gisela as they clamped a set of iron chains around Bard's wrists.

"No! NO!" cried Sigrid, as one of the guardsmen punched Bard in the stomach, winding him. "You've got it all wrong!"

Tilda began to sob loudly, held tightly by Bain who watching the scene with horror.

"What are you doing you selfish dog?" shouted Gisela, unable to control her fury. She stepped in front of Sigrid in case the girl acted rashly. "He's innocent!"

"Silence, woman," Alfrid spat, an ugly look on his face from being insulted. "Bard is nothing more than a common thief and will be punished accordingly."

Gisela's blood ran cold and her heart seemed to stop. There was only one punishment for thieves. Sigrid seemed to be thinking the same thing, and her face paled with fear.

"No! NO! You can't do this!" the young girl screamed hysterically, as Gisela restrained her. "You can't do this!"

Alfrid grinned and Gisela knew he gloried in Sigrid's despair. A vicious, poisonous hatred stirred within her stomach.

"As a matter of fact, I can child," sneered Alfrid, dangling his chain of office before her eyes. "Your father is a criminal, will be tried as a criminal and will be hanged as a criminal!"

Tears were streaming down Sigrid's face.

"You're making a huge mistake, Alfrid" Bard said suddenly. He stood tall and proud next to his captors, sadness and anger fighting on his face. "When the people learn of this, they will not believe. They will rebel."

"The people are a bunch of gullible fools!" growled Alfrid, spit flying from his mouth. "They will believe what the Master tells them! And they do!"

"Not all of them will be so easily deceived," Gisela said, cold fury blazing in her eyes as she held a shaking Sigrid. Alfrid smiled unpleasantly, and with another snap of his fingers instructed for the guard to escort Bard from the house. Erik the landlord merely gazed on helplessly and with an apologetic look at Gisela, followed suit. When the door slammed, Sigrid gave another moan of despair and fell to the floor in a puddle of skirts.

Gisela knelt to help bring the girl round, her mind racing and blood pounding in her ears. It seemed unbelievable a few hours ago they were out skating, without a care in the world but like everything else in Gisela's life, all good things came swiftly to an end.

"What's going to happen to us?" Bain asked nervously, kneeling opposite with a damp cloth to place on Sigrid's head.

The innocence in his voice made Gisela choke back a wave of tears, and she hastily wiped her eyes. "I don't know, Bain. Help me lift Sigrid up."

The young boy obeyed and heaved Sigrid's lifeless body onto the bed of pillows in the kitchen. Gisela sat close with Tilda on her knees, her mind still trying to absorb what happened. Everything felt dreamlike, like a blanket wad smothering the real pain lingering in the room like a noxious gas. Whenever Gisela thought of Alfrid's face, the venomous hatred she felt earlier returned in full force, twisting her stomach into knots.

"Is Papa coming back?" The question threw Gisela off-guard; Tilda was peering up at her eyes full of tears

"He may yet," she replied quietly, swapping ominous looks with Bain.

"Will you look after us until he comes back?"

She stiffened, fear sweeping through her but Gisela knew this would be what Bard would have her do. It was common knowledge the Master despised Bard, but it seemed an awful risk to have the people's champion arrested and hanged. Was there another motive? If the Master wanted to discredit Bard, there were many other ways to do so without involving public execution. And then it dawned on her. Gold. Her gold. Gisela always knew her father possessed a powerful jealousy of her wealth, and now he had formed a plan to claim it. Why go to all the trouble to arrest Bard on some trumped up to charge, if not to goad her into admitting she herself was the thief? Alfrid's spies had no doubt watched her time with Bard and his family, forming a theory that she and the Bowman were – dare she say it? - romantically involved!

The only way to release Bard, was for her to take the blame. There was no other way and that had been the Master's plan all along. But was she willing to take such a risk? The Master would seize her wealth, destroying all she had of Elbert and Elias but the thought of another family torn apart by his regime was too terrible to think. She, Gisela would not be responsible for orphaning three children and bringing about the death of a man she was growing to … well, she could never live with the guilt.

Gisela absently threaded her fingers through Tilda's golden hair, her mind suddenly clearer and she was surprised how calm she felt. The Master would lock Bard away for the night, then parade the Bowman in the streets before his hanging.

"Of course, I will," Gisela said, forcing a smile.

The little girl buried her face in Gisela's chest and the Widow felt tears sliding down her cheeks.

_I will take care of you sweet Tilda, at least for the night._

* * *

The next day dawned cold and grey. Gisela stared through the kitchen windows, absently washing dishes of want of something to do. Purple bags shadowed her eyes from comforting the children all night; she was half-thinking to tell Sigrid about her suspicions of her father's arrest but knew the young girl would only beg her not to go with her plan. Mature as Sigrid may be, the girl was still only fifteen and there was much for her to learn.

Gisela finished washing the last plate and sat down at the table, barely touching the slice of bread she bought yesterday. Movement stirred from the children's room and Sigrid entered the kitchen, pale and puffy-eyed. She saw Gisela at the table and accompanied her, holding a metal goblet.

"Papa thought I didn't know where he kept it," she muttered grimly, emptying the contents of the jug. "I never understood why people drink this but -"

"Sigrid, are you drinking _ale?_" Gisela quipped. She got up and snatched the goblet from the hands of the younger girl but in doing so, created an onslaught of tears. "Oh Sigrid, I did not mean to shout but you _must not_ drink this."

The younger girl curled up next to her and began to weep in earnest. "Oh Gisela!What is to become of us? I am so glad you are here!"

Gisela made a non-committal noise in her throat, and just patted Sigrid's golden head.

"I will be gone this morning," she said slowly, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"To the market?" Sigrid asked, raising her eyes.

Gisela nodded.

"Then I will come with you. I must."

"No, you must look after Tilda. You don't want to see something like that."

Sigrid gave a mirthless smile. "Death is not unfamiliar to me; I have watched my own mother pass away and – " she failed to continue and broke again.

"It is not so easy to accept the death of a loved one," Gisela whispered soothingly, whilst rocking Sigrid's shaking back. "I know, Sigrid."

The younger girl lifted her eyes. "Of course you do, Gisela," she replied gently. "The moment you saw my father in the canal, you have been a blessing. You saved Tilda … you've taught me so much and I can't thank you enough." An awkward look passed over her face. "My father liked you."

"And I liked him," Gisela smiled, determined not to go where Sigrid was hinting."He is a good man."

"No, I mean … he _liked _you."

Gisela shifted uncomfortably. "I do not understand, Sigrid."

"He never said it, but he looked at you the same way he did my mother."

"He barely knows me," she dismissed. "Come now."

"He loved my mother the moment he saw her and they married after a month!" Sigrid exclaimed, a trace of humour in her voice but Gisela just forced a smile.

"This is not unusual. I never met my husband before I married him, but luckily for me he was a kind man." She gave Sigrid another comforting pat and rose up, wincing as the dress she wore chafed her armpits. It was a faded shift-dress that once belonged to Allis, but considering the other woman had been considerably shorter and less ample, it stretched precariously across Gisela's chest. "Sigrid, I need you to stay here and look after Tilda and Bain," she instructed, "No more ale, I beg of you. I am going to the market, for if one person who must witness such a thing, it should be me."

Sigrid looked like she was about to protest, but finally nodded. The younger girl appeared so lost that Gisela leaned over and embraced her tightly. "Yesterday, as we skated on the ice, your father confessed that you looked up to me," Gisela began. Sigrid's head shot up and opened her mouth to speak, but Gisela raised her hand. "I know our time has been brief for all the lonely years I have spent, but you are the closest thing I have had to a daughter."

Gisela had never meant to say something so personal, but Sigrid's watery smile was worth it. She shrugged on her thick winter cloak and with one last embrace from Sigrid, exited the house. The streets were suspiciously empty, and by the time she reached the market square, she understood why. The Master had raised the whole town and a large group of people stood before the steps of his household looking confused.

A makeshift gallows had been erected below the steps, surrounded by twenty City guardsmen. She wove through the crowd until she reached the front; Bard was stood chained next to five guardsmen, looking determinedly brave but fear stirred in his grey eyes. A night in the cells had not been kind; the Bowman's' hair fell limply across his pale face. A suspicious bruise was swelling on his right eye.

"Ladies and gentleman!" shouted a familiar voice. The crowd fell silent. "I have summoned you here today to witness what happens to those who think they are above the law!" Gisela peered behind a portly man, and spied the rotund belly of her father standing before her. Like the dog he was, Alfrid hovered nearby, a triumphant smile lighting up his black eyes. "I give you Bard! Your supposed champion!" the guardsmen pushed Bard into view and as Gisela predicted, a confused muttering spread across the congregation. The portly man beside her was shaking his head. They refused to believe.

"And what of his crime?" yelled a voice from the crowd. "Bard is no criminal!"

"My dear man, Sven," the Master chuckled to the questioner. "Bard has been found guilty of thievery and will therefore hang as an example!"

The mutterings increased. "Impossible," Gisela heard some say, "we've been starvin' so who can blame him?"

"Quiet!" roared the Master as the protests began to strengthen. The City guardsman shuffled forwards, raising their spears menacingly. Bard's eyes lit up with hope as the crowd began to voice their doubts. Unsettled by their mistrust, Alfrid advanced on Bard, lips curling.

"So? Any last words? No prayers? Nothing to say of your family?"

A look of pure hatred flashed across the Bowman's face, and just as he was about to speak Gisela stepped from the crowd.

'Alfrid!" Gisela called. A hush fell across the crowd as every face turned to where the Widow stood in the no-man's land between the guards and the congregation. "You have made a mistake. I tell you, people of Esgaroth, that this Civil Servant has caught the wrong person."

Bard looked at Gisela in disbelief, his chest heaving. "I tell you now, Alfrid. It was I who stole those coins with the intent of framing the Bargeman!"

A look of utter delight spread across Alfrid's face. He stepped down, followed by two guardsmen.

"The Civil Servant of Esgaroth recognises the Widow, the madwoman who despises others and above all, cannot be trusted."

His eyes flashed malevolently and Gisela found herself surrounded by aggressive murmurings, as if a swarm of angry bees was approaching. Every person gazed at her with varying expressions of hostility; a look she was very accustomed too.

"She's the Widow! Of course she would frame Bard!" an old woman cried, brandishing a withered finger.

"That's true," goaded Gisela to provoke greater hatred to support her plan. "I spit on your so-called champion! I took great pleasure in knowing that while you all starved, I had a pantry full of food and enough money to buy each household bread. This Bargeman is too petty to hang, let him waste away his life on the Long Lake!"

"Why boast of your crimes, woman?" another voice shouted from the crowd.

"I am the Master's daughter. I cannot be arrested unlike you peasants."

An outpouring of hatred began to unfold and Gisela felt several hands push her towards the guards. The people believed her story. She raised her eyes to Bard who was gazing at her with a mixture of pained gratitude and shock. As the people began to shout, she shook her head to indicate she didn't want him to defend her and he grudgingly accepted.

Alfrid was licking his lips. _"Exempt? _This woman is a liar! Guards! Seize her!"

Gisela never looked away from Bard as the guards bound her wrists in chains, and tore the cowl from her face.

"I always knew this woman was trouble," Alfrid sneered, as Gisela was shoved roughly before him. "Master, wouldn't you agree?"

A course of cheering rippled through the crowd as the Master descended the steps. For the first time in years, Gisela gazed upon the face of her father and saw nothing but emptiness reflected in his eyes.

"People of Esgaroth," Alfrid yelled to the masses. "I give you the true thief! Gisela the Widow who will hang for her crime!" Loud cheers followed his words, as Gisela was lead towards the scaffold. Dangling from a beam were two nooses, swaying in the winter breeze. Her heart began to leap against her ribs like a frantic bird, as if it sensed death was drawing near. Her body began to shake. Through her dreamlike state, somebody called her name but Gisela kept her eyes fixed on the lowering noose, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. Was this really the end? Was her father - selfish and cruel as he was - capable of watching her die? Was she wrong about him all this time?

* * *

**Ahah. Sorry to leave you all on a cliffhanger! All feedback is welcomed! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hello ladies and gents, sorry for the long update. Things have been quite hectic with the day job, and I thank you all for your patience, especially since I left you all on a cliffhanger :) Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it! Once again, a huge thanks to all those who have reviewed/favourited/followed and visited this story. **

**Angelofire: **You will see a lot of change this chapter, and that is my aim.

**UniabocetaP: **Ahah, you are quite right. I like to throw a few complications into the mix.

**Sinister Concussion: **Thanks for the encouragement, it means a lot.

**CeruleanBlu: **Sorry for scaring you! I quite enjoy writing about Sigrid's relationship with Gisela, and I think because Gisela is such a good influence on Sigrid, he begins to warm to her in a different way. Anyway, I will say no more!

**Homeric: **I'm glad you like the story so far. I'm a long time reader of your King Arthur stories, and I'm incredibly flattered you have found my story and favourited it! :) Sorry to sound fangirly haha. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**RandomReader56: **Apologies if your patience ran thin, here's the next chapter ;)

**MaddieRose: **Haha yeah the Master isn't all bad, he's not an orc (but close)

**SalomeMaranya: **You'll find out more about the Master and Alfrid in this chapter! Enjoy!

**Just4Me: **All will be revealed what happens next for the Widow. Thanks for your kind words and following the story :)

**DD: **ahah, I guess it did. I kind of wanted to create a contrast, the more extreme, the more impact.

**LittleDarling13: **It's good to keep you all guessing haha :) I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Dalonega Noquisi: **I guess you're right about Faramir and Eowyn (my favourite LotR ship) , I draw inspiration from a lot of sources. I must say, thank you for sharing your thoughts with each chapter :) it is hugely appreciated.

**Zabuzasgirl: **updated.

**Heavenweatherhellscompany: **Some more Luke Evans smexiness in this chapter aha :)

**holdinghisheart: **I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Six. **

"Stop! STOP!" Gasps rang out as the Master suddenly rushed over to the gallows. His skin was white and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. "I – I will lock her in the dungeons. Take her down immediately."

Alfrid looked staggered. "Are you sure, Master?"

"Do as I say!" thundered the Master, instructing three guards to lead Gisela from the platform. The Widow stepped down; her mind spinning and chest tightening from holding her breath. In the swarm of angry people being held back by the City guards, Bard stared up at her, a blazing look on his face she had never seen before.

"Move along, Widow," one of the guardsman snarled as Gisela stopped to look back at the Bowman. "Move along, you're going away for a long time."

Something hard poked her back, and Gisela was forced to move. Bard's face disappeared as the angry crowd surged forwards, battling against the City guardsmen. They were crying for her blood, to have her punished the same way a simple beggar would. To teach her a lesson. To prove that not even the rich could escape capital punishment. Gisela swallowed back tears. _How wrong they all were. _

Her nerves were shot; having stood before the noose and having death served up on a platter, had stole her last scrap of bravery. Her body still trembled as she was escorted away from the baying horde, and taken to the murkiest part of town where it was said even the rats avoided; the town jail. The building was larger than the Master of Laketown's own abode, cleverly concealed behind watchtowers overlooking the Lonely Mountain, it's dark tower pointing a reproachful finger to the neglectful sky. The foundations were made of poorly quarried stone that spoke of the lack of craftsmanship in Esgaroth, which supported a two-storey timber frame. Small, dark windows lined the walls, staring out across the Long Lake like hollowed eyes.

The stench of decay hung in the air, and Gisela noticed a suspicious pile of smouldering debris concealed down a side-street. A figure was stoking the pile with a fork. Gisela's breath caught in her throat; they were burning bodies – or prisoners who died in their cells and beggars found frozen on the streets.

"This way, Miss," one of her grim escort growled, pulling her to the doors of the jail. A tall man with long blonde hair stepped out, a chain of iron keys dangling from his slim waist. A cold light stirred in his eyes.

"I am Stein, the gaoler of the city jail. If you come quietly, I will be gentle but try to flee and you will be punished. Now follow me."

Gisela glared at him but said nothing. She was pushed into step behind Stein, entering the dark bowels of the jail. A narrow, stony corridor lay before her, lined with passageways leading to the upper floors. A door to her right contained the gaoler's office, filled with warm light and jars of food. She expected to be taken upstairs and given a cell overlooking the lake, but instead she followed Stein down a staircase which burrowed into the foundations of the building. The walls were made of the same poor quality stone, coated in moss and slime.

Prisoners shackled to the floor gazed up as they passed, peering bleary-eyed through the gloom. Some muttered incoherently, others grudgingly ate the stale bread given to them and some didn't move at all. The conditions were unforgiving, and Gisela doubted her chances differed in a cell made of wood on the upper floors. A damp chill froze her skin, but she resisted the urge to show any weakness. Her pride was all she had left.

"Here we are, Miss," Stein said, bringing her to a cell no larger than her pantry. A patch of greenish light poured through a crack in the wall, illuminating her sad accommodation. "A nice cosy cell for you."

Gisela suppressed the anger burning inside, and stepped into the cell with her chin raised. The gaoler watched her steadily, strapping a pair of shackles nailed to the wall. The weight of them forced Gisela to the floor and she fell, slamming her head and creating a storm of laughter from the guards.

"Be careful," Stein quipped, as Gisela retreated into a corner, clutching her skull in silent agony. "Some food will brought to you in a couple of hours."

Again, Gisela said nothing; her cell was close to the lake and an icy draft crept through the hole, groping her lungs like icy fingers. She heard Stein hiss with impatience and slam her cell door, leading the city guardsman away, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Gisela watched them go, wrapping her arms around her pitiful dress to conserve heat. A storm of despair raged inside but no ounce of strength did she hold, no tears. The image of that terrible, awful noose lingered on her mind, and even though she saved Bard, the thought of dying made her blood run cold. Death was so sudden, so cruel.

She sniffed, a tiny, selfish thought slithered to the forefront of her mind, tempting her to acknowledge it. She did. Curling into a ball, as self-pity began to roll over her.

What dignity was there to be had in a dank cell filled with thieves? Her actions were borne of compassion for Bard and his family, and the Master would seize her wealth and worldly possessions. What was to become of her now? Was her sacrifice worth it? Was she to spend the rest of her days starving in a cold cell, with nothing but the damp for company? Bard admired her yes, but he would continue living for many years; he would be branded a traitor if he tried rescuing her, and the penalty for treason was far worse than hanging. There would be no other motive for his arrest; he would be tortured and his head placed on a spike outside the tollgate.

_Am I worth that much to him? _

Gisela closed her eyes, head lolling against the wall and breathing deeply. A grey nimbus closed her mind, and her thoughts began to descend into a darkening pit of misery. What good was she to anyone? Truly? An old miser, who shunned the townspeople and likewise, who was scarred in both body and mind. She was old, earning merely the respect of a Bargeman and his family through good intentions suited to a "good neighbour." That was all they would think of me, Gisela told herself sternly, selfishly. She stared broodingly at the stone wall._ Respect. _Empty, cold and useless respect.

_But you do not deserve him, you foolish woman. You do not deserve anyone. _

Gisela's throat tightened, and she held back the force of a great sob. My soul still carries fire … my heart still burns … I am not entirely made of stone …

She kneaded her temples, wincing as the course iron rubbed her skin but she welcomed the distraction from her consuming depression, which pressed down at her from all sides, filling her cell like poisonous smoke. Somewhere in the belly of her cellblock, one of the prisoners began to hum to himself; he could hardly carry a tune but Gisela found herself listening with salty tears steadily rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

A dim light flickered inside Bard's house. Sigrid hastily lit a lantern, and was pacing the kitchen with her winter cloak half-tied around her neck, strands of blonde hair askew across her pale, panicked face. "I'm going out to look for her Bain," she declared to her brother. "It's been four hours and it's almost dark!"

Bain, who was slumped on the makeshift bed of pillows with Tilda, wrung his hands. "I don't you think you should, Sigrid. She'll be back soon."

Sigrid laughed mirthlessly. "Alfrid and the Master of Laketown are out there. What if she ran into trouble? What if they did something to her?"

"This is Gisela we're talking about, she avoids trouble if she can help it."

"Not Alfrid. She insulted him and he could have her punished -" Tilda began to cry at Sigrid's words and the elder sister paused, guilt flooding her face. She rushed over to console the younger girl. "Oh I'm sorry, Tilda I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sure Gisela is fine."

"It's okay," Tilda said thickly, wiping her nose and melting into Sigrid's arms. Both sisters embraced, tears now pouring silently down Sigrid's cheeks. She looked at Bain over Tilda's shoulder and noticed his eyes were bloodshot.

"So, what happens now?" Bain asked quietly.

"I don't know," Sigrid sighed, drawing apart from Tilda and falling beside her brother on the pillows, idly picking at a frayed hole.

"We have no other family ..."

Sigrid peered into the small fire; in her mind they would never be separated but this was Laketown. If nobody offered to care for them, Tilda would be sent to a workhouse, Bain as an apprentice to a fisherman and she, Sigrid would serve a thankless matron or possibly the Master himself. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought.

As she rose to heat up another batch of tea, footsteps were heard on the porch outside. A smile of relief broke across Sigrid's face but instead of Gisela entering through the door, it was Bard.

She dropped the kettle. "PAPA!"

Screams of happiness and disbelief rent the kitchen as Bard's children tore across the room and launched themselves at him, all four bodies collapsing to the floor in a pile of heavy sobs. Bain was positively howling. It took five whole minutes for the family to compose themselves; tears still streamed down Bard's face as he stood, clutching each of his children close as if he feared they would disappear. Tilda was perched on his hip, her face squirrelled into his neck and sucking her thumb.

"Oh Papa! What – what happened?" Words failed Sigrid as Bard sat down at the table, his body shaking. She picked up the kettle and placed a steaming mug before her father, but Bard merely gazed at it, the lines of his face taut with fear.

"Papa?" Sigrid asked again. "What happened? Where – where's Gisela?" A drop of concern entered her voice as Bard chose not to answer. "Has Alfrid got her? Pray tell me she is alive, Papa! Please!"

Bard took a long sip of the tea and rubbed his temples. The agony he felt the previous night, tormented by visions of his children becoming homeless and falling into ruin, the sad scraps of bravery he summoned in the dark of his cell to face the noose the next day and the shock of witnessing Gisela take the blame so he could be free, weighed heavily on his heart. He raised an injured gaze to Sigrid, who flinched.

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke. "She is alive, Sigrid."

"But where is she?"

The Bowman dragged his usual hand through his greying hair and sighed. "She took the blame for my crime and has been sent to the jail."

Silence. Sigrid's jaw dropped. "What? Why – why would you – I mean? What you speak is true?"

Bard nodded.

"But they will let her out?" Bain piped up, frowning. "Won't they?"

Another wave of guilt stabbed Bard and he drew breath. In truth, he did not know what the Widow's fate would be; if the Master refused to hang her, then lifetime imprisonment was the only option. If Gisela had not come, Bard would have chosen a quick death over rotting away in a cell, pining for his family. The place would send even the sanest of men into the pits of insanity.

"We must try and get her out," Sigrid declared, pacing the room again as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Right now! Today! What are we waiting for?"

Bard feared his daughter would say this and he shook his head. "It is too risky, my darling. That jail is guarded by a dozen guardsman day and night. The Master would catch me and I would be executed. I'm not going to lose you all again." As soon as he said this, he regretted it. Sigrid's face turned sour and Bain made a noise of discontent. Deep down, he yearned to free Gisela from that cesspit; he would be lying if he said he wasn't growing fond of the woman. He had learnt a valuable lesson to accept help when it was truly needed, even if it came from the person he least expected. And now she had saved his life. Again.

"You cannot be serious, Papa. After everything, Gisela has done for us? For Tilda?"

Bard buried his face in his hands. He recalled the stubbornness blazing in Gisela's eyes in the crowd, how she followed the guards onto the gallows with her chin raised in defiance. Never had he seen such bravery, even in men.

"Papa?"

The Bowman peered between his fingers; his children were standing before him, united in their defence for Gisela, their bright eyes full of concern. A surge of panicked relief ran through him; he couldn't believe how close he was to losing them. Not his family.

"There is nothing we can do," he dismissed firmly, rising to his feet and hating himself. "It is getting late, you should all go to bed."

Tilda began to cry and Bain's eyes widened with horror but Bard ignored them. Sigrid, however was rooted to the spot, arms folded and mouth tightened in a moue of disapproval.

"I can't believe you're can't do this!" she said angrily. "You would save her if it was Mama!"

This struck a nerve. Bard turned on his heel, squaring up to his eldest daughter who remained resolute. "Gisela is not your Mother!" he snapped, "she is a friend of this family and nothing more!" The Bowman cringed inwardly as the lie tumbled from his lips.

Sigrid's lower lip began to tremble but the young girl quashed her woe and glared determinedly up at her father. "She's as good as! You know this for yourself!"

Bard hissed with impatience, turning away but Sigrid's gaze still burned into his skull.

"Mama died eight years ago, Papa." Her voice lowered an octave, softer now.

Bard struggled with himself for a moment, his sudden anger trickling away. He glanced at her face but instantly regretted it, for a tortured anguish lingered there. His eldest daughter revered Gisela as she would an older sister, and watching her flourish under the Widow's tutelage filled him with a warmth so powerful he could not explain. If Gisela perished, Sigrid would never forgive him and he would never forgive himself. But what could he do? It roiled his insides at the thought of leaving his family again, but Gisela's brown eyes pierced through his mind, sending wave after guilty wave surging through his body. Nobody had ever done anything like that for him, for _him … _

"Please, Papa," Sigrid implored, approaching him cautiously.

Bard's body deflated. He gently cupped Sigrid's cheek, and she smiled slightly reminding him so forcibly of Allis after the storm of an argument it was almost painful to see. He sighed. "I – I don't know what I can do … " he admitted, unhelpfully, collapsing into a chair at the table and scooping up Tilda who hovered nearby with her teddy bear. "Gisela is a good woman but - " He broke off, the words getting stuck in his throat as he recalled how empty they sounded, how pathetic. He gazed round at his children, eyes glossing over with tears. "I – I can't lose you all again."

Sigrid placed a hand on his shoulder. "We can find a way, Papa."

Bard grabbed his eldest daughters hand and brought it to his cheek, savouring the warmth and losing himself in the familiarity, the solidity and the reality that he was alive and so were his children.

He glanced sidelong at Sigrid. "I believe I have a plan."

* * *

_Fire. It seared into the night, as if licking the stars with fiery tongues borne of devilish serpents rampaging within the flames. The house stood consumed by the horror; it's elaborate wooden beams collapsing into a sea of embers and showered sparks. Outside on the boardwalk, crowds of people were desperately passing pails of water to prevent the fire from spreading onto the surrounding buildings. Amidst the panicked yells, a scream of anguish filled the night. A woman was seen being dragged out of the flaming wreckage by two City guardsman, kicking and thrashing against their bonds like some wild thing. _

"_Let go of me! Let me go!" _

"_Come now, Gisela ..." The Master of Laketown stepped out from the crowd to calm the woman, if reluctantly, and patted the flames clinging to her cowl. Charred flesh was seen beneath the fabric, creeping from the corner of her mouth to her breasts._

_The woman shook him off. "Leave me! My boy! Elias! You have to go back for him!" _

_The Master stared at her. She was impervious to the pain of her burns flaring up on her face. Impervious to feeling, to danger. Her very spirit shook with anguish. Another tortured screech escaped her lips as the screams of a young child were heard from within the house, and she reached out, wild-eyed with despair as if invisible threads would spring out and rescue her son. _

"_Please! Please!" _

_Still half-restrained by the Master, the woman tugged on the arm of the surrounding guardsman, ignoring the stares of the people. Nobody responded, fully aware it was impossible to enter the building. Suddenly, the house became engulfed in a fireball and the cries of the child were no more. The woman was now on her knees, pulling out clumps of hair through her grief, wretched sobs wracking her whole body. She was mad. Utterly mad … _

A metallic clang jerked Gisela from her restless sleep, her body stiff and cold. Through the gloom, she could just make out the thud of footsteps echoing down the corridor, and nearing to her cell. Dull moans emanated from the neighbouring cells and the prisoners mutinously considered the visitors' presence with disdain and bitterness. The "hummer" had began to sing to himself again, and Gisela trained her focus on his vague ramblings, trying to block the fear suddenly pumping through her veins. It amazed her slightly a part of her was still alive, still able to move with such rapidity when the past three nights she had sat curled up against the slime-smothered wall, silent and unmovable as stone with no thought to spare for anyone or anything.

"Ah, here she is, Master. All in one piece."

The weak light filtering into Gisela's cell shifted and in her periphery she saw three bodies standing there.

"She looks thin," a deep voice sounded and Gisela slowly twisted her head to see her father standing outside her cell, studying her closely. Like a shadow, Alfrid hung beside him shrouded in black.

Stein faltered. "We have been feeding her, Master. More than the other prisoners, mind."

The Master considered the gaoler for a moment, reading the masked lie written on his face with a small frown. He cleared his throat, and dismissed Stein with a jerk of his chin. Gisela watched him leave, the tantalising jingle of his keys tinkling down the corridor.

"I must say Gisela, you cut an impressive figure, even when locked away." Gisela's brown eyes flew to meet her father's blue ones, feeling a rush of anger at his words. Both the Master and Alfrid sensed this, and exchanged looks of grim satisfaction. "You are certainly the talk of the town."

Gisela dropped her gaze and adjusted her body so it faced them, unwilling to present a defeated profile despite living off bread crusts and stale vegetables for the past few nights. She said nothing, waiting for them to get to the point.

"Naturally, your house has been repossessed and your wealth seized," the Master continued, watching her closely. "All valuables have been sent to the town treasury."

Gisela knew he was going to say this, but nothing could prepare her for the shock of knowing all trace of Elbert and Elias was gone. She valiantly fought back the wretched sting of tears, of weakness, and forced herself to stare defiantly into his sneering face.

"So that is why you are here, to tell me I am now a poor woman," she answered wearily. Alfrid looked delighted she had cottoned on so quickly, but Gisela only had eyes for her father. "It is nice to know that you have made time for your family and spared them the noose. It has been so lonely down here, so cold. I truly appreciate your company."

The Master scowled at the cold sarcasm leaking into each word. "What would you have me do, woman?" he hissed, inching closer to the bars to stare at her shadowed form. "You're a conniving witch! My job is on the line because of you!"

A cold laugh rang from the corner and Gisela slowly got to her feet, the iron shackles dragging loudly on the stone floor as she rose to face her father. Alfrid took a step back in disgust as her withered appearance was thrown into sharper relief in the torchlight. "You flatter me, father," the Widow sneered, clutching her cell bars with thin fingers. "Did you not think I had the measure of you and what you truly desired all these years? And now you have it. May you enjoy many more years of drinking, eating and whoring."

Alfrid stirred restlessly at her words. "Do not lie to us woman! Do not pretend you don't long for your riches!"

"Perhaps," replied Gisela silkily.

Alfrid chanced a sidelong glance of confusion at the Master, who was inexplicably grinning. "Why the change of heart? Could it be possibly anything to do with that Bargeman?"

The smug look on Gisela's face flickered for a moment, and she felt her pulse begin to race. "Do not insult me," she lied, spitting on the floor but the Master continued to consider her intently, looking remarkably like a toad observing a juicy fly. She raised her gaze. "Why have you come here?"

"Funny you should ask," said the Master, puffing out his chest like an overstuffed pheasant. "I have come to take pity on you."

Gisela felt as if somebody had doused her in icy water. Since when did the Master have an ounce of pity? She braced herself for the next few words. "Pity?"

"Insufferable as you may be, Gisela, you are still my daughter. I hate the fact that you are down here with the filth of Esgaroth, wasting away ... so I am offering you a proposal."

The feigned concern in his voice made Gisela's skin crawl, and a rushing noise was suddenly filing her ears as the Master gestured to Alfrid. "I will set you free, if you marry again and all your wealth will be restored. You will have a warm bed, fine clothes and your reputation will be restored."

The Widow blinked. "Marry?"

The Master nodded.

"Who, _Alfrid?"_

Without warning, a wild laugh escaped her lips; a shrill, crazed laugh which rang out unnaturally in their closed environment, startling a few prisoners nearby who looked over in alarm. "You cannot be serious?" Gisela hissed, pulling her attention to her father who watched her outburst with disapproval. "I would rather pluck my eyes out with rusty hooks than marry that dog."

"That is not your decision to make!" the Master seethed, riled by Gisela's waywardness and stepping closer but the Widow refused to recoil. She raised her chin, dark eyes narrowed.

"How so?" she spat, fury now pumping through her veins.

"You are a criminal! You are under my control."

Gisela laughed coldly. "I refuse."

"Leave her be, Master," Alfrid offered, a sneer curling his lips. "She has made her choice, the ungrateful witch. Let her rot."

"I will not make a martyr out of her!" the Master declared furiously, speaking directly to Alfrid. "There is already civil unrest since Bard was arrested and my stopping the Widow's execution!"

"You're wasting your time, Master. Forgive me, but I knew the Widow would never accept your offer of freedom. You are a good man, and she is too blinded by pride and her love of the wretched Bargeman to see it!"

Gisela watched their exchange darkly and slunk back into the corner of her cell, a strange empty feeling in her chest. Lies. All of it, filthy lies she thought miserably as the Master and Alfrid's voices lowered into frantic whispers. She sank against the wall, allowing their hushed murmurs roll over her, resigned to whatever treacherous lies they were cooking up. Finally, they broke apart and approached her cell once more, united in their hatred of her refusal to submit.

"Very well, Gisela," the Master snapped, his composure slipping somewhat. "May you decay in here for the rest of your days."

The strange look from when he watched her face the noose, battled on his features and Gisela finally realised a part of him still considered her wellbeing, even if it meant marrying her off to the wretched Alfrid. But Gisela he knew his love of office outweighed any true concern he felt about her and making her Alfrid's wife would be the perfect way to control her; to watch her every move.

When Gisela merely stared at them insolently in answer, the Master turned angrily on his heel and left, his long cloak billowing behind him. Alfrid hung back for a few moments, black eyes regarding her malevolently in the semi-darkness, and brought up the rear.

A long sigh escaped Gisela's lips and she pulled her body close, wrapping her arms around her legs. A terrible hollow sensation stirred restlessly in the pit of her stomach, making her feel sick. Had that just really happened? Had the Master, her own father, came and visited her in her sad, little cell and offered her freedom? Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life? Then Alfrid's sallow, sneering visage swam into her mind, and the mere thought of sharing a bed with such a repulsive creature made her blood run cold. And Bard. They were right; her selfish, damning, self- deprecating diatribes in the dark of night and her choice to bear the toils of prison stemmed from one thing; love. She loved him.

Gisela's face crumpled and she painfully swallowed back a lump in her throat. It was too agonizing to say it aloud, or think outright. She loved Bard, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing.

She closed her eyes, body sagging and tears still falling even as she slept.

* * *

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A small scuffle was heard. Nay, Gisela surely believed she was imagining it. Possibly a bird, a crow …

Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound continued. It was needless, pointless and annoying because everything was lost …

Gisela's eyes fluttered open. Shaking herself from her reverie of misery, she glanced down and noticed small stones being pushed away from the crack in her wall. Curiously, she moved closer and watched as more stones were pulled away until a small hole the size of her hand was produced. Cautiously, she peered through and to her astonishment another eye appeared on the other side.

She fell back in alarm, shackles clanging. Regaining her composure, she returned to the hole and looked through; her cell ran adjacent to the pile of burnt corpses she had seen the other week. Nothing stirred in the empty street, until a face suddenly materialised from beneath the hole.

It was Bard.

* * *

**Well there you have it people :) I intended for this chapter to be about character development, so I hope it wasn't too dragged out. Look forward to hearing your thoughts! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Have another chapter, folks! :) Enjoy!**

**Warning: Some scenes in this chapter are quite brutal!**

* * *

**Maddie Rose: **I hope you enjoy this new chapter, let me know what you think!

**UniabocetaP: **haha you reviewed just in time before I updated again :P Bard is definitely becoming the man we all know and love.

**Guest: **I'm flattered, and I've really enjoyed writing Gisela's character.

**Lady Lazerus: **Thanks for the kind words and I hope you like this next instalment :)

**Salome Maranya: **I know exactly what you mean by the tragedy of there being a possible bond between Gisela and the Master, but greed can easily change a person – that and power and how it destroys relations - thats what I want to portray in this story.

**RandomReader65: **Thanks for the compliment of my writing!

**CeruleanBlu: **All answers shall be revealed :)

**Guest: **Enjoy!

**Just4Me: **haha yeah you're spot about why Gisela is so bitter, and I wanted to show the struggle for Bard as his children are so important to him as well.

**Dalonega Noquisi: **you're dead right; I thought through all the trials they've had this chapter ought to be the one where Gisela realised her feelings.

**Homeric: **It's been a lot of fun to write about Bard's struggle, but this wouldn't be a story if he didn't come rescue Gisela lol. I hope you like this new chapter.

**ZabuzasGirl: **as requested with every review, I have updated :P Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Seven **

"Bard!" Gisela croaked in disbelief, glancing warily around for any sign of Stein or his guards. "What are you doing here?"

Bard raised the hood of his cloak Gisela recognised as her own, and smiled faintly. "You look terrible," he observed, sweeping a careful eye over the small part of Gisela's face he could see through the hole. The Widow's cheeks were hollow, and her skin turning the colour of parchment. Her mane of black hair hung limply around her face like rat's tails, obscuring the grime and dried blood attached to her skin. He blinked at her, a frown of concern lining his face.

"Why are you here?" Gisela whispered hurriedly, beckoning for Bard with her index finger. "How did you know?"

Bard stepped up to her on a pile of wood. "I know the gravedigger who disposes of the bodies. I bribed him with one of your rings and he told me where I could find you."

A watery smile broke out across Gisela's face, and without thinking, reached out her hand through the hole and Bard grasped it softly. She closed her eyes at his touch, savouring the warmth and solidity of his skin against hers.

"They will catch you, Bard," she said gently, gazing at him best she could. "It was a huge risk to come here."

"After everything you risked for me?" Bard answered, raising an eyebrow. "Do not be a fool, Gisela. Gods, your hands are like ice! Here!" He stuffed a pair of rabbit skin gloves into the crack, and Gisela gratefully accepted them. "Did you not think I would come?"

An awkward silence split through the air, and Gisela bowed her head, loosening her grip on Bard's fingers. What could she say? How she selfishly cursed Bard for leaving her to imprisonment whilst he continued his days with his family? How she wallowed in self-pity, her old mistrust and depression distorting her thoughts into darkness. Or how she finally realised her feelings for Bard? The mere sight of him, here, now, risking everything to see her made her heart race rapidly; the only soul in the world who gave a damn.

"I did not know what to expect, Bard," she said truthfully, as Bard listened closely. "I would have you alive and with your family. That was my choice." Despite the circumstances and Gisela's mournful words washing over him like a cold wave, Bard gave a lopsided grin and shook his dark head.

"I knew you would say that. You're a stubborn fool."

Gisela felt a laugh grow in her dry throat, but it transformed into a sob which she swallowed. Stubborn, yes. Noble no. Foolish? Definitely, but all people were fools in love. Gisela would have cringed visibly at the thought. Had Bard not been the man he was to her over the past few weeks, she would have not taken the blame to spare him punishment, despite it being her father's plan all along to seize her wealth.

"The Master visited me today," she told him, as if they were talking about the weather. "And Alfrid."

"He did? What did he want?" Bard asked, frowning.

"He wanted me to marry Alfrid."

A sound comprised of a laugh and a choke escaped Bard, and he hastily cleared his throat so as not to seem improper. Instead, he rearranged his expression into one of suspicion.

"Why?"

"It was quite obvious," Gisela continued, "if I married Alfrid, then the Master would have complete control over me. The man may have the personality of a trout and look like one but there was a small part of him which wanted me to be free, even if it was for his own gain. "

"And did you accept his proposal?" Bard asked her carefully.

"Of course not. I would rather enter the Lonely Mountain than marry that dog!"

Another grin passed across Bard's face, but it quickly vanished as the sobriety of the situation settled on his shoulders. He felt Gisela considering him with her brown eyes, which despite being shut away in a cold cell, remained soft and unguarded. "How is Sigrid? Tilda? Bain?" she asked quietly, pushing her face closer to the wall.

Bard raised his gaze, and half-smiled. "Worried about you, but they are in good health."

"I suppose Sigrid talked you into coming here?" Gisela said shrewdly, The Bowman instantly looked away, cheeks flushing. "I understand if you were reluctant," she continued in a softer tone to amend Bard's discomfort. "Truly, I do."

Bard shifted his feet and approached the hole, so that his face was almost touching hers. He was so close he could count the faint cuts peppering her face, and the scar which drooped her mouth, but this did not deter him. The familiarity warmed his heart. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Gisela pushed aside another stone, and Bard saw her smiling sadly, resting her cheek against the palm of his hand. They had never been this close.

"Do not be a fool."

"I'm a stubborn fool, and when I want something done, I do it."

"You're making a mistake, Bard," Gisela replied, faint annoyance trickling into her tone. "I cannot help you again if you got caught! Half the town wants me dead, and they will not think highly of you if they saw you helping me!"

"I mean it," Bard said to her, clutching her hand tightly and gazing earnestly at her with his grey eyes. "Do you think I care about the opinion of fishwives and beggars ? I won't let you rot in here."

"And how will you outfox the gaoler and his twenty guards? They would have your head on a pike quicker than you entering my cell."

"Trust me, I have a plan."

A plan. The Master was the king of plans and undoubtedly sent his little spies to follow Bard, watching him like mice as they shared niceties through a gap in her cell wall. As soon as word reached the Master's ears, he would gladly arrest the Bowman and be done with him; interaction and conspiring an escape plan with a prisoner was treason. All of Esgaroth knew that.

At this thought, Gisela shook her head firmly and pushed the Bowman away, who stepped back looking surprised and hurt. "No, I forbid you to help me!" she said, anger and pain flailing in her chest like a wounded animal as she lashed out, all to prevent the one thing she truly and selfishly desired; freedom and the Bowman himself. Oh how, she will punish herself later! "I appreciate you coming to see me but you're a bigger idiot than I thought to take such a risk! Go home Bard, your family needs you."

Bard's grey eyes hardened, and Gisela could have sobbed as the warmth slowly faded away. Silently, he delved into his pocket and gave her a badly wrapped package and left without so much as a parting glance. Gisela watched him go, chest pounding as the dying animal in her chest writhed in agony. She slid from the hole, tears spilling down her cheeks and collapsing to the floor. Shakily, she unwrapped the paper; inside was a golden locket encrusted with emeralds from the Halls of Erebor, containing two small paintings of Elias and Elbert, which her late husband had given to her on her twenty-fifth birthday.

Elbert had been an excellent artist; and the two pictures were as accurate as the depictions she held in her memory.

Gisela pressed the locket to her chest as if it were a babe, and soon wave after wave of silent sobs wracked her body. What she wouldn't give to tear down the wall and chase after Bard to hold him, to thank him for such a gift! How he managed to find the locket surprised Gisela beyond belief, yet it scared her how much he was willing to risk whilst she remained behind bars. What was his plan? Was he as foolhardy as she thought him to be?

* * *

Heavy snow had begun to fall from the sky as Bard walked away from the prison. Wrapping his overcoat tighter to his body, he heaved a sigh and silently welcomed the frozen distraction of the fat snowflakes settling in his hair. A curious mixture of sheer frustration and fear rattled through his mind._ Of course you knew Gisela was going to turn you away, she was only protecting you_, the wiseacre section of his brain professed plainly. Bard visibly cringed, and strode aggressively across the boardwalks. He was crossing over the High Bridge near the Market when something grabbed his leg.

Alarmed, he pulled away, accidentally cuffing a young girl across the head with his foot. The woman toppled into a pile of snow, flailing her arms around like a windmill. "I'm so sorry!" Bard gasped, helping her stand. She brushed herself off and stared at Bard with sunken eyes.

"Have you a penny, sir?" she pleaded, grabbing the cuff of his coat tighter than Bard liked. "Please? A crust of bread? Please! My son … he is ill!"

The Bowman just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss I - " He broke off as the woman began to clutch fistfuls of his coat, a well-worn tactic to distract victims from being robbed. As he predicted, the woman's hands began to wander to his pockets and he pushed her away, unflinching as she stumbled backwards. She blinked, stunned, and before she could harass him any more, Bard hurried down a side street. It lengthened his journey, but the route avoided the back-alleys filled with beggars and harlots. He was wrong.

The stench of faecal matter and rotten fish filled his nostrils, as he walked cautiously down the boardwalk. Hunched figures stirred in the shadows, reproachful eyes watching his every move. The sound of a woman screaming reached his ears, and to his horror, Bard saw a young lady with scraggly blonde hair rocking a small bundle, surrounded by her skeletal family. An old man saw him staring and before a fist could connect with his jaw or a knife stab his belly, Bard ran for it.

The Bowman stopped at the foot of the bridge near his house to catch his breath, his face wet with tears and snowflakes, the memory of the small frozen body still imprinted in his minds eye. Poverty in Laketown had never been this bad, and if mothers were reduced to cradling the bodies of their children in the streets, what hope did the rest of Esgaroth have? What hope did his family have? Gisela?

Mustering himself, Bard crossed the bridge and tore up the steps to his house two at a time. The kitchen was dark when he entered, the only light source coming from the ailing fire tended by Bain. Sigrid was preparing a stewing pot when he arrived, and she glanced at his appearance in concern.

"Papa!" she cried in relief, embracing him tightly. Bard briefly returned the gesture and settled at the table, face buried in his hands.

"Did you see Gisela, Papa? How is she?"

Bard slowly raised his eyes. "Aye, I did darling," he replied, gently as he could to reassure the worried look on Sigrid's face. He did not want to speak of the mother and her baby. The lack of food was beginning to show on his and his children's appearances, despite their attempts to stay postive. Sigrid's eyes were getting darker by the day. "She's alright."

A tiny cheer erupted behind him, and Bard was heartened to see Tilda crawl up onto his knee with her teddy bear.

"So what did she say?" Sigrid pressed him, whilst pouring heated milk into a bowl of grains.

"She told me off," he answered with a crooked grin. "Said I was an idiot for taking such a risk."

"Sounds like Gisela," Sigrid replied with a small smile of her own, jumping as the bowl began spitting loudly.

"She sent me away," Bard continued, as Sigrid wrestled furiously with her tempestuous mixture. "Just as I thought she would," he paused. "I've never met a woman so stubborn in all my life."

"Can we go see her?" Tilda piped up, gazing hopefully up at Bard as she fiddled with the strings of his woollen shift.

"Not yet, darling."

"So … do … you think the plan will work?" Sigrid asked, grunting with effort as the porridge began to thicken. "I mean – when are you going to do it?"

She turned away from the stove, arms folded and a look of worry etched on her face better suited to an older person. Her words caught Bain's attention from the fire and he rose and stood beside his sister, wringing his hands.

Bard heaved a sigh. "Tomorrow, maybe."

A foul, burning smell suddenly crept into the room, cutting through the tense silence which followed Bard's words. Sigrid made a noise of annoyance as she removed the bowl from the stove, and plonked it onto table. The family gathered around it, each pulling a face of disgust as they gazed upon the cremated porridge which was to be their meal for the evening. It was food better suited to a pig, but since the Master had had all the pigs killed, burnt porridge was the best thing going in Esgaroth.

Tilda suddenly began to cry. "I'm not eating that!"

Sigrid threw an ugly look at her younger sister. "It's the best I can do!"

"It's the worst food ever!" complained Bain.

"Well go eat a rat then!"

"Silence!"

Bard was on his feet. A loud bang was heard from outside, and the sound of angry voices rent the air. It had already begun. The people were rebelling. Bard turned to Sigrid, and grasped her arms, gazing into her face. "Right, you know what you have to do. Take the rings, and lock yourself in the basement with the blankets. Take this ..." He handed her one of his hunting knives. "Only use this if necessary."

Stunned, Sigrid nodded but Bard had no time to say more. Tilda was beginning to howl with fear, as the Bowman shrugged on his overcoat, sheathed his hunting knives and shouldered his bow. He knelt down. "I'm going to find Gisela, my little bird," he whispered gently to his youngest, stroking her soft cheeks with his hands. "I will come back for you, I promise."

He glanced over at Bain, who was already holding his own knife Bard had given to him for his birthday a few years ago. "You can trust me, Papa," the young boy said, peering up at his equipped father with a mixture of fear and reverence that made Bard swell with pride. "I can look after them."

"I know you will," Bard replied wryly, briefly hugging Sigrid. "Now go down to the basement, all of you."

* * *

Gisela woke to the sound of excited laughter. It was a strange, ringing sound and her brain dimly located it to the prisoner opposite her cell. He was a heavy-set balding man with a lopsided face, a simpleton, and true to his name, was jumping around his cell like a deranged monkey. Irked by his unnecessary agitation, Gisela opened her eyes and was about to rebuke his behaviour when the distant sound of angry yells filled the silence of the cellblock. In succession, other prisoners came to life; banging their cell bars with their shackles and laughing manically.

In desperation, Gisela peered through the crack in her wall and noticed a dim light on the sky; a riot was breaking out. Fear began to course through her veins; she was trapped, the town despised her and there was only one way she would be treated with such lawlessness.

Loud footsteps broke her train of worry and for the first time in her life, she was pleased to hear the drawling voice of Stein.

"Quiet you lowlifes or I'll have your heads!"

To no surprise, this created more ruckus. The prisoners were beside themselves, and Gisela could not blame them; any disruption from the mundane existence of prison life was a rare and sweet thing.

The Widow walked to her cell bars, watching Stein slowly march down the cellblock in full armour, a sword at his side.

"What's going on out there?" she asked him tentatively.

The gaoler twisted his head, a grin lighting up his face. "Nothing to worry about, Widow. Just a few rebels."

"It .. it sounds like the whole town is out there." She hadn't meant for the trickle of worry to enter her voice. Gisela silently cursed herself as Stein drew closer.

"You afraid?"

Stein was no fool, and Gisela surmised any facade of false bravery would have her mocked.

"Yes," she replied, staring determinedly up at him.

"Clever girl, but not that clever," the gaoler rasped. "You're best avoiding this lot in here, than a few unruly men with fish hooks. Rapists and murderers they all are."

Gisela swallowed back a lump in her throat, tearing her eyes off the gaoler's cold, unforgiving gaze. Stein's eyes were the colour of dirty ice, and they seemed to pierce into her very being like thumbscrews. That was why he was here … to torture, to rile up the prisoners whilst the rest of the guards fought against the mob. She could have slapped herself for foolishly thinking Stein had come to their cellblock to protect her on the Master's orders, but who in the world would die for a band of criminals?

She drew herself up to her fullest height, fighting the rampant horse raging against her ribs. Her only source of comfort was the locket dangling from her neck, discreetly hidden by her mesh of tangled hair.

She remembered the riots which broke out several years ago; the people had been unforgiving and spared no thought for their actions. Children had died, and the next day the canals of the City ran red. Fifteen pubic hangings of the supposed ringleaders were carried out in the market; and the bodies left to rot as a reminder for those who challenged authority.

Gisela had been afraid then; a few scrawny fisherman had broke into her house and stole whatever they thought of high value; a few brass candle holders and silver plates belonging to Elbert's family but they had left her unharmed. Esgaroth folk were a superstitious lot, and believed killing the 'madwoman' would bring them bad livelihood and ill-health for the rest of their days. Having her privacy and cherished home trampled on by a pair of ill-gotten thieves deeply affected Gisela, and she spent an entire month shut away in her bedroom, sobbing and yearning for Elbert's protection. Such extreme solitude made her ill, but Gisela knew the virus already contaminated her mind.

The Simpleton was laughing again and Gisela was dragged back to the present. The cries were getting louder, and the prisoner's more restless. Stein was casually pacing the corridor, swinging his keys tantalisingly on his long fingers, whistling a tuneless tune. Gisela began to mirror him, but her own pacing was one of terrible fear. Was Bard out there in the commotion? Was Sigrid? Or were they locked in their house, armed at the ready for any thieves who tried to break in? The thought made her choke back a sob, and she fruitlessly pushed at the hole in her wall, foolishly hoping Bard might be outside ready to help her.

The noise of the prisoners grew louder, and Gisela was about to peer through her bars once more when a loud bang erupted at the end of the corridor, sending bricks and mortar flying.

Fresh growls like an awakening beast stirred, slaying the jeers of the prisoners. Torchlight and the stench of smoke began to waft through Gisela's cell bars, as the riot began to spill through the cellblock.

* * *

The world had plunged into chaos. Smoke and angry flames flared from every house like dragon breath. Cries of pain, fear and anger filled the night sky as crowds of people armed with makeshift weapons battled against the City Guard. Bard creeped along the shadows of the houses like a cat, knife ready and his left hand inches from his bow.

He both blessed and cursed the snow softening the fall of his footsteps, while still freezing his ill-made shoes. The riot had turned into a full-scale battle. When he entered the fray, a few fisherman were challenging the City Guard outside the Master's house. He chose to rub salt on the wound and provoke the incensed people to claim what was rightfully there's; plentiful food and wine. Another surge of angry mobsters appeared as he spoke, and overrun, fought past the City Guard and forced their way into the Master's House. After that, chaos broke out and the people declared anything from anyone was theirs to claim resulting in the first fatalities.

Bard had watched horrified as the City Guard began to slay any man within range. He had not wished for that. Like the last riot, he fully supported the common's folk claim that the food was there's but now thieves were born, killing and burning as they went from house to house.

A young man he recognised to be one of the baker's sons had tried to swing a punch to his jaw, but familiar with combat, Bard had merely ducked and upended the clueless boy on his back with a firm kick to the ribs as warning. It both saddened and angered him that such a barbaric change was possible in a person, but the Bowman knew that when in the thick of a riot, the people were one. Each individual wore a mask. The mob was a monster.

Bard continued walking stealthily down a blessedly empty boardwalk, the snow a pallet of brown and red. He bent down and crept into the shadow of a broken shed. In the distance he saw the imposing tower, but something flickered. He edged closer; a huge chunk of the building had been torn apart and flames were licking up the structure, consuming all in it's path.

"No ..."

His knees buckled, and Bard steadied himself against the shed. Swallowing back all terrible possibilities, he ran towards the building, bow loaded and waiting. There was no sign of disturbance; piles of brick and charred bodies littered the boardwalks, smouldering in the chill breeze. It was impossible to make out which cell had been Gisela's; a total massacre had occurred; City Guardsmen and peasant alike lay dead on the ground, some with axes still protruding from their limbs.

If there was one thing he knew about Gisela, is that she was a survivor. If the prison had been overrun by mobsters then she would have surely found a way out … surely …

He swept a careful eye over the bodies; the silence of the dead would only be short; soon enough the mob would find it's way here again and forage for any goods within the ruins of the prison, like the crows would in the morning.

Pursing his lips, Bard shouldered his bow and carried walking down the empty street.

* * *

Each breath stabbed Gisela like a knife as she ran fruitlessly down the boardwalk. The snow and ice disrupted every step, and a stitch was forming up her side. The mob paid the panicked woman with wild hair and torn dress no heed as they raced past, weapons aloft and yelling to the high heavens.

All around her people lay in patches of red, the houses too stood wounded as the fire wrought havoc on it's bones, destroying all things which had once been precious and good.

It must be a dream, Gisela thought foolishly as she hurried blindly down another street filled with fighting men. A cruel, torturous dream that some power had cursed her to experience with every fibre of her senses. A family fending off some men with their goods blocked her path, and before Gisela could change course, she caught the attention of a band of City Guardsmen who were fighting off an aggressive fisherman brandishing a knife. A sword struck his shoulder, and within seconds he lay sputtering in a pile of his own blood.

Terrified, Gisela turned on her heel and tore back down the boardwalk into the belly of the commotion. An open barn door to her left caught her eye and she threw herself into the dark building, supporting herself against a fallen beam to calm her nerves. A single thought had barely crossed her mind, when the barn door opened and the group of City Guardsmen entered, swords raised and bloodstained.

"Grab her," a thickset man with pale eyes ordered to the other three.

"NO!" Gisela screamed, backing away as the men grabbed her arms and pinned her to the floor. "NO! PLEASE! Stop! STOP" She flailed beneath their grasp, hissing and snarling like some wild animal.

"Lie still you little hellcat!" the pale eyed man snarled into her ear, "or I'll cut your tongue out!" He knelt down and licked her cheek, his fleshy, wormy lips slithering across her skin like a leech. Gisela didn't know what made her do it but she raised her head and bit his cheek, almost choking as warm, metallic blood filled her mouth.

An outbreak of shouts ensued, and the pale eyed man staggered backwards in agony. Something sharp connected with her side, but Gisela had no time to figure out what had happened. Her attacker advanced on her again, punched her mouth and forced her legs open.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he sneered, eyes flashing dangerously as he forced her dress upwards. "We all are."

He produced a small knife and held it to her throat. "Lie still."

Gisela felt the cold air sting her navel and thighs and before the man could further his attack, something sharp protruded from his chest. An arrow. He was thrown aside like a rag-doll, and Bard stood above her, bow raised and eyes blazing with feral anger. The three other city guardsmen relinquished their grip and drew their swords. One charged at the Bowman but Bard was ready and produced a knife from nowhere, cutting the man's throat with deadly accuracy. The remaining two he felled with two more well-aimed shots of his bow. They each fell to the floor with a dull finality, blood ribboning across the straw and gathering into puddles.

When the danger passed, Bard threw aside his weaopans and knelt down next to Gisela who was sobbing uncontrollably. The Widow sat up and sagged into his grasp, her hands clutching at every bit she could find. Blood was pouring from her mouth, and bruises were swelling up on her legs.

"It's alright," Bard soothed, stroking her hair as he cradled her broken body against his. "They're gone."

Gisela heaved another wild sob, and drew back her head, gazing at Bard intently. "You came for me," she said miserably, attempting something of a smile.

"I promised I would," Bard replied.

His hand reached down to her waist to help her stand when his fingers became coated in a sticky, red substance. Immediately, he looked down at Gisela's side and noticed a red hole staining the grey dress and a bloodstained knife lying on the floor.

She had been stabbed.

* * *

**Okay guys, please don't kill me for leaving you on another cliffhanger! ;) **

**Chapter 8 is in full swing. Look forward to hearing your thoughts! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry to leave you all hanging ladies and gents! Here is Chapter Eight! **

**XlilMekoX: **thank you for all your reviews for each chapter, I sent over a PM detailing more about how I write Bard :) Anyways, I'm glad you have enjoyed the story thus far and I present to you the latest chapter!

**Wingthing: **haha I never thought of that! I suppose I do like to incorporate a bit of a Shakespearian feel to the story!

**CeruleanBlu: **Of course Bard would come to the rescue! Haha. I must admit that was one of my favourite bits to write in the whole chapter.

**Salome Maranya: **Update guaranteed! And thanks for pointing out the typo! Much appreciated!

**UniabocetaP: **I'm glad you liked the chapter and I hope this one keeps you on your toes!

**Just4Me: **Both Bard and Gisela do deserve a bit of happiness, you are definitely right. I always like to write subtle actions which convey affection, whether it be a simple stroke of the face. I always think that has the most impact. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

**Dalonega Noquisi: **Bard to the rescue, as it was always going to be! I enjoyed writing that bit ;)

**LotRNaustenfan: **hello there new reviewer! Thankyou for such lovely feedback. I hope you like this new chapter.

**ZabuzasGirl: **updated y'all!

**Homeric: **I feel mean for using cliff-hangers but I always find it makes a reader want to read on :) thanks for another lovely review and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Eight. **

Bard gazed at his bloody fingers in horror, then back at Gisela; her skin was turning white but her brown eyes burned with the fiery determination he knew so well. She was very much alive. Breathing deeply, he produced a small rag from his overcoat and gently wiped the blood dribbling down her chin, and placed another to stem the bleeding on her side. It was impossible to tell how deep the wound was, but Bard knew he had to get Gisela to his house quickly.

"I'm going to slowly lift you up," Bard told her, tracing a calloused finger down the side of her cheek to ease her nerves. Gisela gave a jerk of her chin which he took for assent, and with exceeding gentleness, scooped her into his arms. Her body was alarmingly light; he could feel every rib beneath the dress but what concerned him was that Gisela's eyes had begin to close, her breathing coming in laboured rasps.

"Gisela!" he whispered desperately to catch her attention. "Gisela can you hear me?" It was vital she remain awake, or her body would slip into a coma.

He shook her slightly, flinching as his bow dug into his shoulder, and Gisela's eyes fluttered open. She dimly considered him.

"You have to stay awake. You have to hang on."

To his relief, a glimmer of life shone behind her eyes and Gisela gave another jerk of her chin to indicate she understood, but Bard could sense the pain was overwhelming her senses. Fresh blood was starting to seep through the rag around her waist.

Outside, he could still hear the distant shouts of the mob and the thrum of weapons but the worst of the fighting appeared to have subsided. What the outcome of the battle was, he did not know and nor did he care; all that mattered was saving the woman in his arms and coming home to his children. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of their safety. Cautiously, he stepped outside the barn doors and before he could look for any danger, a gasp of horror escaped his lips; bodies lay strewn across the boardwalks, painting the snow red, some still smouldering from the many fires burning from the buildings. The canal had become deluged with corpses, arrows and puncture wounds peppering their chests. A small girl near Bard floated past; gold haired and glassy-eyed, streams of blood drifting sinuously from a line across her neck.

The Bowman stiffened, and with great difficulty, wrenched his gaze from the girl; Gisela's body was going limp, and her skin becoming cold.

"Hey," he breathed, shaking her form softly. Another wave of relief surged though him as Gisela weakly tilted her head from his shoulder.

Wasting no time, Bard started the difficult and dangerous journey home. He cursed the flimsy, narrow boardwalks littered with bodies which slowed his progress, but fortunately nobody crossed their path or challenged him. Judging by the orangey glow on the horizon, the mob was congregated in the Market place; perhaps the City Guard had seized control or the Master had been forced to surrender like last time, but Bard wasn't complaining, as long as he remained undisturbed.

The bridge near his house was nearby, and Bard felt his heart begin to race, positively dreading what sight was in store for him. There was little damage to the buildings on the surrounding streets, and only a few corpses drifted in the canals. He almost cried when he saw his home; it was whole, it was unblemished from the destruction of the mob.

Spurred on by hope, Bard tore quickly over the bridge and up the steps of his porch. He kicked his door open with his foot, and placed Gisela's body onto the pile of pillows acting as a bed in the corner. He was about to stand, when he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.

"Move or you die," whispered a voice, shaking with both fear and determined courage.

"It's me, Sigrid," Bard rasped, slowly lowering his hands onto Sigrid's behind him.

There was a short intake of breath. A candle was lit, and Sigrid's face lit up in the darkness.

"Oh Papa!" she cried, leaping desperately into his arms. Bard returned the gesture, and to his utter relief, heard the thumping footsteps of Bain and Tilda ascending the stairs from the basement. They scurried across the kitchen, flinging their arms over his neck.

"It's okay, I'm alive – I mean – I'm so glad to see you all alive," Bard said, wiping his eyes.

"We're fine, Papa. Did you find Gisela?" Sigrid asked worriedly, gazing blankly around in the darkness.

"Yes, she's on the bed of pillows."

"Light another candle, Bain," Sigrid instructed, before turning to Bard. "Is she hurt?" A gasp escaped her, when Bain lit another set of candles and Gisela's still form was revealed spread out across the pillows. Immediately, Sigrid rolled up her sleeves.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked Bard hurriedly, as she frantically searched under the table for Gisela's book and bag of healing herbs.

"I rescued her from a group of City Guardsmen," Bard explained. "I believe one of them stabbed her in the side before I turned up." Both he and Sigrid stood over Gisela, their eyes drawn to the dark bandage tied to her waist.

Shaking off her worst fears, Sigrid knelt close to the Widow, eyes glistening and placed a hand to her head. "She's cold and lost a lot of blood. Bain, pass me a knife."

Bain jumped at being spoken too, as both he and Tilda watched Sigrid attend to Gisela with fearful expressions. Tilda's lower lip was trembling, and Bard placed a hand on her shoulder as Bain shakily handed Sigrid his hunting knife. Carefully, the eldest daughter sliced the bandage from Gisela's waist and cut away the material of the dress. A large portion of her flesh was revealed but Bard knew a large area was needed when treating a wound. He edged closer, and his heart sunk; a large, gaping hole split the skin like a mouth, leaking blood and dirt onto the pillows. It was a clean cut, but it was deep, perhaps damaging the internal organs.

"Did Gisela teach you how to treat flesh wounds?" he asked Sigrid.

"Yes, of course," she answered defensively, inspecting the wound closely and then sifting through her medicine book. "I know how to clean the wound and stitch it up, I -" she became distracted as the instructions in the book became more complex. She glanced desperately at the wound then back at the instructions. Sigrid did this several times, until her face crumpled and she flopped onto a chair, sobbing. "I – I can't do this, Papa! What if – what if she? I'm not as good as she is with healing medicines! I can't lose her, Papa! I just can't, I'd never forgive myself!"

Bard sat beside her, hushing to calm his eldest daughter down. It broke his heart to see her this way; t was a lot of pressure for anyone to heal a person, let alone a fourteen year old girl.

"You are a wonderful healer, my darling," Bard soothed in encouraging tones, "I will help you, we can only do whatever we can."

Sigrid sniffed and wiped her eyes. "You're right," she said thickly. "I have to be calm and patient, that's what Gisela said a true healer was like."

Bard smiled. "She's right, come – let us prepare a poultice." With a finger, he stroked her cheek and Sigrid got to work. Once his eldest daughter pulled herself together, he stepped back and watched in admiration as she carefully followed the instructions from the book to clean the wound. As Sigrid applied the poultice, Gisela stirred from the bed. She slowly turned to face him, a weak smile playing on her lips. Bard sat beside her, grasping her hand and gently kissed it.

"Hey …"

"Hey …"

"You're safe, Gisela. We're all here."

The Widow closed her eyes as Bard kissed her hand again, then gazed at Sigrid who was bandaging the wound over the poultice.

"Good girl," she croaked, and Sigrid smiled warmly. "I think … I have taught you well."

"You have," Sigrid replied affectionately. "I'm so happy to see you, Gisela. We're going to make you better again."

Gisela merely smiled at Sigrid's words and looked over at Bain and Tilda who seemed happier now that she was showing signs of life but Bard gazed at her appearance more closely; her skin was the colour of milk and her fingertips were ice-cold beneath his palm. The Widow's brown eyes locked onto his own, and Bard instantly understood. Blood was still seeping through the poultice, rendering it useless and falling to the floor.

"No ..." he whispered, clutching her hands desperately.

"Do not fret, my dear Bard," Gisela murmured, freeing a hand and slowly combing the tangles of his hair. How she loved the feeling, the very simplicity of affection.

Sigrid looked from Bard to Gisela and instantly cottoned on. "Gisela!"

"Everything .. will … be fine … my dearest, darling Sigrid," Gisela wheezed, and through the effort to speak, the muscles contracted in her abdomen and more blood oozed through the material. Sigrid watched in horror, and like Bard, clung to her arm in desperation, eyes peering beseechingly over the woman's face to search for an answer that would not come.

"I can save you, I can! You taught me!" Sigrid wept, emotion throbbing in the back of her throat. "You taught me Gisela."

Bard glanced at his daughter. "There is nothing we can do, Sigrid. The wound is too deep. You cannot blame yourself."

"But I can, Papa!"

"Sigrid …"

Sobbing silently, his eldest daughter nodded and went to comfort Tilda with Bain in the kitchen. The Bowman gazed down at the Widow, layer upon layer of grief crushing down upon him.

"Is there anything I can do?" he whispered, lifting a hand and running a knuckle over her smooth, pale skin. Tears fell freely from his cheeks. "Anything at all?"

Gisela slowly shook her head. "You … have … done all you can," she replied through slow and laboured breaths. "I'm happy."

"I failed you, Gisela"

"No … " Inexplicably, a smile curved her bruised mouth. "Have you ever loved me … Bard? I have loved you … and … I never thought … I would feel that way again."

Bard choked back a sob. He nodded. "Of course I do," he breathed, "I love you so much." He leaned in and took her head in his hands, and kissed her softly. Her lips pressed against his own, and a faint moan of happiness escaped her. After a few seconds, Bard broke apart and Gisela's hand fell limply from his grasp. Her brown eyes went vacant, as their luster dimmed. She was dead.

The Bowman gazed down at the woman lying before him. Never would the blank face smile, frown nor laugh again. She was a body, nothing more but a shell, never to recognise or love him. The faint throbbing of life beneath his fingers ebbed away, and Bard foolishly thought she would wake up any minute but the Widow never did, her skin becoming stone.

He gently reached out and closed Gisela's eyelids.

"She looks like she is sleeping," Sigrid said quietly, standing next to Bard who jumped. "Just like Mama."

Bard didn't know what to say. His head was spinning with angst. Even if a person died unblemished, their body maintained a devastating emptiness which troubled him greatly. It had been the same when Allis died; she passed away surrounded by her family after birthing Tilda, but as soon as her eyes closed and her chin sank against her chest, there was no pretending that person was merely sleeping. Nobody slept with chalk-white skin, or stained blood around their mouth. Nobody lay so still, so limp and lifeless. Death was an ugly, crude thing and it had taken away too much.

"She's with Mama now, Tilda," Sigrid said to her younger sister who approached the bed, fighting to keep her voice level. Tilda squeezed between Bard and Sigrid, and peered over at Gisela's body. It was difficult to tell what she felt; being so young and all but Bard recalled how terrified he was when his father died. He had only been ten summers old when he discovered his father's gaping corpse staring at him from the bed, colder than a marble statue. His screams of fear awakened his mother and she found him huddled beneath the kitchen table, shivering from head to toe.

But Tilda did not scream. Nor did she cry. Wordlessly, she raised her teddybear and placed it on Gisela's chest. "Can I give her my bear, Papa?."

The Bowman raised his eyebrows in surprise and faint admiration. "Of course you can darling," he said, kneeling down to balance Tilda on his hip. "That's a lovely gift."

He felt Bain hover next to his other arm, and he automatically placed a hand on his son's shoulders. The young boy's eyes were red from weeping, but like Tilda, appeared to hold great strength. For a few minutes, the family stood in contemplative silence over Gisela's body when the sound of heavy footsteps thundered on the porch outside. Bard had already reached for his bow when the door to the kitchen flew open; instead of a band of unruly mobsters, the Master and Alfrid stormed into the kitchen, their faces wild and panicked. The riot had not been kind to them; both sported bruised features and body injuries, but nevertheless appeared unharmed.

"What are you doing here?" Bard snarled ferociously, pointing his bow directly into the Master's face. He heard Sigrid gasp behind him, but Bard ignored it.

The Master raised his hands in surrender, and before he could speak, Alfrid stepped between them. Despite looking half the man he was, the Civil Servant still managed a sneer. "Lower your bow this instance, Bard. We are here because you are harbouring a fugitive!"

"This is my house, I can do what I like."

"Careful Bard," Alfrid growled, "we may not have seen you burning down the City like the rest of your peasant friends but everyone knows you started the -"

"Enough!" shouted the Master. Ignoring the sound of tightened bowstring, the Master walked over to where Sigrid, Tilda and Bain stood shielding Gisela from the two unsavoury visitors. All three children scarpered instantly, and watched in shock as the Master's knees buckled. The lines of his paunchy face tightened with pain, as he stared down at his daughter.

"Master?" Alfrid enquired.

"What happened to her?" the Master asked Bard, and for the first time, there was no anger or malice in his tone.

The Bowman reluctantly lowered his bow and approached the Master. "She was killed by your Guardsmen."

"Liar!" hissed Alfrid, joining the two other men next to the body. His mask of derision slipped slightly as he looked at Gisela. "The Bowman is responsible for this travesty, your Supremeness. If she had married me, and not mooned after the wretched Bargeman she would have been safe!"

These words hit a nerve with Bard, and he turned to face the Civil Servant, anger blazing in his grey eyes. "Don't you _ever sa_y that again in my house," he rumbled slowly, rage heavy in each word and cornering the Civil Servant into his kitchen.

"Bard speaks the truth," the Master said suddenly from the bedside. Bard and Alfrid looked over at him with different looks of surprise.

"Master!"

The Master rose to his feet, disgust etched in every contour of his skin. "I killed her," he said in a wounded voice. "I killed my own daughter."

"Don't say such things, Master," Alfrid pleaded, pushing Bard aside and hovering next to the Master like a dog seeking approval. "You are not to blame for her death, it was a band of unruly mobsters!"

"So now you blame the mobsters," interjected Bard roughly. "Forgive me, but there would have been no mob if the Master had not kept all the food for himself!"

"Treasonous words!" Alfrid gasped, brandishing a shaking finger. "You dare to speak ill of the Master in his presence?"

"Quiet you," the Master said to his Civil Servant, firing him a look of warning. "I could have you arrested for such words, Bard but I will not. For the sake of my daughter's life, I will leave you be."

"And what of the fight?" Bard asked.

The Master heaved his great shoulders, and dragged a garishly jewelled hand through the greasy strands of his auburn hair. The defeated look on his face spoke of the true outcome and through his layers of pain, Bard felt a kernel of hope. He wondered whether the Master had learned his lesson, unlike last time when the Master had won the battle against the town, but even with the death of his daughter, the Master would and always be a selfish man, too proud to admit his mistakes. This was as close to a truce the Master was willing to submit, and reluctantly Bard nodded his head in acceptance.

"I will take my leave." the Master declared gruffly, seizing his cloak from the table. As he approached the front door, he looked back. "Take – take good care of her, Bard." Without another word, he exited the kitchen with Alfrid, leaving a ringing silence in his wake. Bard stared after him, both dumbfounded and angry; he knew the Master would never have taken control of Gisela's funerary arrangements but watching him leave as his daughter lay dead, sickened him to the core. But who could blame him? A voice muttered in the depths of his brain as he sat down next to Gisela. His guilt and regret will haunt him for a lifetime, but the Master is too much of a coward to confront his aberrations, even if it was plain for all to see; his greed of power and wealth had cost him his daughter's life, but if there ever was a reason to change oneself, that would be it.

He slowly reached out and stroked Gisela's face. Even in death she was beautiful; her long, raven hair contrasted to the whiteness of her skin and Bard remembered when he watched her sleeping as Tilda fought off the Scarlet Fever, and how they had shared memories of their lives before they met.

It had been after that night when Bard felt his heart race whenever he saw the Widow, and how he was warmed by the close bond between her and Sigrid. He never thought he would feel such emotions again after Allis' demise, but it seemed Death was mocking him once more; the moment to confess their love was on Gisela's deathbed, and once more, Bard was going to bury another woman.

"She made you happy again, Papa." Sigrid's voice drifted from a hundred miles away. "I always knew you loved her."

Bard shook his head to rid himself of the sorrow burning in his chest and looked at his eldest daughter. "How did you know?"

"Women's intuition," Sigrid replied with a small smile. "She may have gone, but you will always know you can be happy again." Bard fought back the noise of derision in his throat, but Sigrid clasped his hands in hers. "It would be easy to fall into bitterness and despair, but you have us," she summoned Tilda and Bain and before Bard could stop himself, the family gathered together beside Gisela's bedside, in warm, tight embrace.

* * *

Some wounds heal quicker than others. It took several days for normality to be restored to the City of Esgaroth. Bard carried Gisela's body outside before the mass burials could begin, and sledged her across the Lake to the cemetery on the shore. After searching the tombstones for twenty minutes, he finally found the graves of Elias and Elbert and set to work digging a hole next to their bodies.

The hard work helped take Bard's mind off the pain constricting his chest, and he silently apologised for any disturbance he caused to the family whose grave he was unearthing. After several hours, he finished and sat down on the pile of mud, taking a swig of water and stared at the gaping, empty hole exposed. One of the worst things about a funeral was lowering the person into the cold, hard ground with the worms and maggots. It was so crude and unforgiving. But this time Bard felt slightly comforted knowing Gisela was not going to be alone, unlike Allis.

After draining his water, he forced himself over to the sledge and raised Gisela into his arms. Her body was swaddled in her elaborate winter cloaks, and inside she carried Tilda's teddybear and the locket. Fighting off tears, Bard climbed into the hole and gently lay her down with as much dignity he could manage. Chunks of mud landed on her face as he clambered out. He stared down at her for a few minutes, and muttered a few prayers. It was nothing much; he did not know any fancy poems which would speak of her beauty or kindness, or lamentations. Nor did he have the money to afford an elaborate effigy to honour her memory, but Bard doubted Gisela would have cared.

Wiping his eyes, he turned away and began the agonising process of filling the grave. He avoided watching as the dirt covered Gisela's body, covering her forever. When Bard had finished patting the mound of earth with his shovel, he returned to his sledge and prepared for the journey back to Esgaroth, back to his home and life as a Bargeman. As he shouldered his bow, a faint twittering caught his attention. Strangely, he understood the noise, as if it were words.

He craned his neck and saw a mother blackbird feeding her young in a nest, high up in the branches of a beech tree. The blackbird became still as he watched her, brown eyes alert. When the Bowman failed to pose as a threat, she fed the chicks the worm from her beak and continued to watch him curiously.

And Bard smiled.

Fin.

* * *

**My beloved readers, we have come to an end. I have grown so deeply attached to this story and all it's characters that this chapter was hard to write.**

**I hope many of you aren't too angry at me for killing Gisela off, but the whole point of my story was to show what happens when the power of greed takes control. I did intend for this story to be a tragedy, but I hope you all see the message I have been trying to convey. I truly wanted Bard and Gisela to live happily ever after, but I feared there were too many instances were an OC miraculously survives. **

**I have entertained the idea of writing an alternate chapter, but I am currently planning a sequel. If anyone is interested in helping me with this project, PM me and I would love to have you on board.**

**Also, I wonder if anyone will understand the last part of this story about the Blackbird (throwing in a bit of symbolism haha) The Blackbird represents Gisela, but also it mentions about Bard being a man of Dale and understanding the tweets of the bird, like when he listens to the thrush when he slays Smaug. **

**To everyone who has reviewed, favourited, followed or even just looked at my story, I honestly cannot thank you enough. Your support has been invaluable, and every-time I see a new review my heart skips! This is the first story I have truly enjoyed writing (and finished lol). Even if you didn't review, yet still read or visited the story, it showed you cared and my story meant to you in some way, even if was just entertainment and to me that is worth keeping. So thank you, thank you all! **

**Keep your eyes peeled for the sequel: Birdsong! **


End file.
